


Brace for Recoil

by gammadolphin



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, But also, CIA AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pining, Slow Build, Stargazing, same relationship though it's complicated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-08-09 19:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 71,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7814569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gammadolphin/pseuds/gammadolphin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Complications were to be expected on any covert mission, and Jim Kirk thought he'd seen them all in his eight years with the CIA. He thought he was prepared for anything. But nothing could have prepared him for the man from his past who complicates the most important mission of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Because CIA AUs are my jam and there aren't nearly enough of them for McKirk. I've taken some liberties with the operation of the CIA for the sake of plot. I also fudged the ages a little for this, making Jim and Bones only four years apart in age instead of six and Jim and Chekov ten years apart instead of eight.
> 
> Thanks to the wonderful [pdameron](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pdameron/pseuds/pdameron) for being an awesome beta/cheerleader.
> 
> Enjoy!

When Jim looked down at his notebook and realized he’d drawn the NASA logo over and over again in the margins of his notes, he knew it was time to take action. He enjoyed most of the courses in his computer sciences and engineering graduate program, but apparently not even Harvard could make a numerical methods of advanced computing class interesting. He pulled out his phone surreptitiously.

_So tell me doctor; is it possible for my brain to start leaking out of my ears from boredom?_

He kept his phone in his hand, hoping Bones wouldn’t be too busy to see the message. His boyfriend had been working crazy hours since starting his neurology residency at Mass General.

He was in luck.

**_That would require you to actually have a brain in the first place._**

Jim bit his lip to hide a grin.

_Nice try bones. You love my brain. We both know how much it turns you on when I talk nerdy to you_

While Jim’s focus had been on engineering and applied math when he’d been an undergrad, he’d also been fascinated by the natural sciences. He’d taken a number of classes in biology and chemistry, which helped him keep up with his medical student boyfriend. Of course, it had also meant that Bones frequently used him as a study tool, making him quiz him for hours on end. Jim couldn’t say he minded that much. Bones always made sure to express his appreciation, and his anatomical expertise could come in handy.

**_I’ve been assisting with colonoscopies for the last six hours. There’s not much that could turn me on right now._ **

_Is that a challenge?_

Bones’ reply was an image instead of a text. It was a picture of his face, giving Jim a very familiar _look_. The one that was a special mix of disapproving, exasperated, and distinctly unimpressed. Jim smothered another grin.

_Challenge accepted_

**_You’re setting yourself up for failure._ **

_I don’t think so bones. Prepare to be amazed_

_And seduced_

Jim flipped to the emoji keyboard and made his selection. He sent it, another smile tugging at his lips as he pictured Bones’ reaction. He could just see his boyfriend staring in disbelief at the single eggplant, before snorting and shaking his head.

**_You’re an idiot._ **

_But I’m *your* idiot_

There was a pause.

**_Yeah. Guess that makes me pretty damn smart._ **

Jim blinked down at the words, warmth surging in his chest. Bones had been his best friend for three years now, and his boyfriend for the past two, but it still never failed to amaze him when he remembered how lucky he’d gotten.

_I love you too_

“Mr. Kirk.”

Jim jumped guiltily and looked up, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. But it wasn’t his professor calling him out. One of the deans of students, whom Jim recognized from a few unfortunate… _misunderstandings_ as an undergrad, was standing beside the podium, looking meaningfully at him. Once she saw that she’d caught his eye, she beckoned him toward the door.

Confused, Jim glanced around the lecture hall and stood, feeling the heat of his classmates’ gazes on him. He hadn’t brought anything but his notebook to the class, so he held that to his chest as he made his way towards the front of the room. The professor cleared his throat and resumed his lecture.

“If this is about what happened at the Sig Chi house last weekend-” Jim began once he and the dean had made it out of the lecture hall. But she held up a hand to stop him.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Mr. Kirk,” she said, and her voice was oddly gentle. Suspiciously gentle.

She said nothing else as she led Jim to her office. Since that was in a building on the other side of campus, he was left to sweat it out for nearly ten minutes. Despite what she’d said about him having done nothing wrong, he couldn’t imagine why else he was being summoned.

“Please sit,” she invited once they finally reached her office.

Jim did so, doing his best not to let his nervousness show. The dean just looked at him for a moment, that weird, sympathetic expression still in place.

“There’s no easy way to tell you this,” she sighed. “But I just got off the phone with a police officer in Washington D.C. Mr. Kirk – James. I’m so sorry, but your mother passed away this morning.”

And just like that, nothing would ever be the same.


	2. Chapter 2

**Eight years later**

 

The baggage claim was crowded with people, making it easy for Jim to watch his target without fear of discovery. He tensed as the man finally pulled a small black suitcase from the luggage conveyer belt and began striding for the exit. Tugging his ball cap lower over his eyes, Jim followed.

“Package is in motion,” he murmured, knowing that his sensitive comm would pick up even his quiet voice. “You gonna be ready for us, Spock?”

 _“I am in position,”_ his partner confirmed.

Jim picked up his pace, closing some of the distance between him and his target as they left the organized chaos of the baggage claim for the street outside the airport. The man deposited his suitcase in the back of the closest cab idling on the curb, and then climbed into the backseat. Jim slid in beside him before he could close the door.

“Hey, what the hell, man?” Ben Finney protested, glaring at Jim. “Get your own ride.”

“No can do, buddy,” Jim told him with a toothy smile, extracting a syringe from his pocket.

He flicked off the cap and jabbed the needle into Finney’s neck, depressing the plunger in a single smooth motion. Finney yelled and struck out at Jim, trying to fight him off. But it was already too late to do any good. His blows were sloppy and lacking in strength, and Jim simply leaned out of range and ignored them.

“Call the police!” Finney called to the driver, voice slurring from the drug.

He fumbled for the door handle, but found it locked. His flailing finally slowed as the drug sped through his system. His eyes slipped closed and he slumped to the side, head thumping against the window. Jim pulled off his baseball cap and tucked it on the unconscious man’s head, bill over his eyes. Satisfied that it would look like Finney was taking a jet lag-induced nap if anyone happened to look in the window, Jim stuck his head through the open partition to the driver’s cabin.

“Well, driver,” he said cheerfully to the man in the front seat. “You gonna call the cops on me?”

Spock gave him an unimpressed look.

“While it is always… _entertaining_ to watch you craft your cover stories to the local authorities, in this case I do not think that we should waste the time that it would take.”

Joking aside, Jim more than agreed with his partner. His levity was a front, a way of coping with the magnitude of their current job. But the truth was, his gut was a tangle of nerves and his veins felt like they were humming with electricity. It was impossible for him to forget how important this was, how _close_ he was.

“Then I suggest you step on it, Spock.”

His partner gave him another look. A moment later, Jim found himself being flung back against his seat as the cab sped forward much more abruptly than was altogether necessary. He glowered at the back of Spock’s perfectly groomed head.

“Vindictive Canadian bastard,” he muttered under his breath.

He yelped as the cab took a turn hard and flung him into the door. He pushed himself back up with a rueful shake of his head and rubbed his arm. One day he’d stop forgetting how creepily good Spock’s hearing was. Of course, he’d probably still end up in trouble, knowing him.

Twenty minutes later, they were pulling into an alley that contained nothing but a couple of dumpsters and a windowless, unmarked van. The door of the van slid open, and two more members of their team emerged. Scotty pulled open the cab door and Sulu caught the still-unconscious Finney by the shoulders before he could slump to the ground.

“I do so love it when these things go off without a hitch,” Scotty remarked conversationally as he helped Sulu carry Finney toward the van. Jim climbed out of the cab and followed them. “It happens so rarely.”

 _“And whose fault is that?”_ The question came from Uhura, the fifth and final member of Team Enterprise. She was monitoring the rest of them from their temporary base and speaking to them through the in-ear comms that they all wore.

“Hey, the execution is always flawless,” Jim defended. He climbed into the van and began to strip down to his underwear. “Whenever things get FUBAR, it’s due to circumstances outside our control.”

_“Yeah, I know that’s what the reports always say. I’m the one who proofreads them.”_

“Hey, you can’t blame me for that. You insist on doing it.”

_“Yes, because those reports reflect on the entire team, and I refuse to have my name associated with a document that describes the leader of one of the most powerful countries in the world as ‘a self-important meanie with a bad haircut.’”_

“I stand by that description, and am frankly appalled that you removed it from the official report.”

_“You know what? I believe you.”_

Jim grinned and held out a hand to Sulu, who passed him the clothes that he’d just stripped from Finney’s body. He pulled them on, shrugging his shoulders. The fit wasn’t bad.

He stretched out his arms and did a twirl. He grinned at Scotty and Sulu.

“How do I look?”

“A bit ridiculous, with your arms waving about, but otherwise ready for action,” Scotty replied, grinning back. “I do have a few more things for you though.”

“Ooh, do I finally get an exploding pen this time?”

There was a snort from the peanut gallery that sounded suspiciously like Uhura.

 _“What would you even do with an exploding pen?”_ she inquired.

“Blow things up, obviously.”

_“Kirk, you’re going on a deep-cover recon mission. If you need to blow things up, you’re doing it wrong.”_

“Didn’t you ever watch _Mythbusters_? Explosions are always the answer.”

_“My god, who let you into the CIA?”_

“Sorry, no exploding pens this time, Mr. Bond, but I do have this,” Scotty said, cutting off the bickering. He slid a brushed-steel watch onto Jim’s wrist.

“Does _it_ explode?” Jim wondered.

“Yes.”

Jim yelped and held his wrist as far away from the rest of his body as he could.

“Really?”

Scotty rolled his eyes, and Sulu snickered.

“No, not really, you numptie. It tells time.”

“Oh.” Both relieved and disappointed, Jim peered at his wrist. “Does it do anything else?”

“It tells very very _good_ time.”

“Great.” Jim gave his teammates wounded looks. “I’m about to go straight into the belly of the beast with nothing but a hand-me-down outfit and a snooty watch.”

“I’m pretty sure hand-me-downs are usually voluntary,” Sulu offered. “It’s more of a stolen outfit.”

“Not helping.”

 _“Hey, don’t forget that magnetic Kirk charm you so enjoy telling us about,”_ Uhura reminded Jim, a smirk audible in her voice. _“No one can take that from you.”_

“I know you’re being callously insincere, but you happen to be right,” Jim said with as much dignity as he could manage. “And I would like to remind you that my magnetic charm has gotten us out of more than one sticky spot.”

Sulu’s brow wrinkled.

“What was the second time?” he asked.

Jim shot him a look of betrayal, but before he could further argue his case, Scotty grabbed him by the chin and jammed a pair of forceps into his mouth. He felt the click of something sliding into the cavity of the false molar the CIA had fitted him with when he started fieldwork.

“Okay, _that_ had really better not be an explosive.”

“It’s your emergency beacon. It’s pretty likely you’ll be thoroughly searched when you arrive, but this won’t register on any bug sweepers until it’s been activated.”

 _“And keep in mind that activation means that we’re going to come in guns blazing,”_ Uhura added. _“So leave it off unless the op is totally blown and you’re irreversibly compromised.”_

Jim already knew all of that, which Uhura knew perfectly well. But he let her go over it anyway, because he understood that it was her way of showing her concern. He waved a silent farewell to his other two teammates before climbing out of the van and into the idling taxi as he listened to her move onto the final mission briefing.

He’d just taken the place of Benjamin Garrett “Ben” Finney, thirty years old. Born in Vermont and raised by a small business owner and a veterinarian, Finney had moved out of state for college. He’d gotten a degree in computer science and been hired right out of school by a company that specialized in cyber security. He’d held the job for three years before getting fired over “disciplinary issues.” Furious and bitter, Finney had drifted to the other side of the law, completely erasing his digital profile and selling his services as a hacker to the highest bidder. Up until a few days ago, those bidders had been fairly small name, not terribly important in the grand scheme of things. Enough for his government to put him under surveillance, but not enough for them to bother taking him down in lieu of the bigger fish that he could bring in.

But then Finney had been recruited by a man known to the CIA only as Ayel. And Ayel worked for the biggest fish of them all, at least in Jim’s eyes.

For years, Nero had only been a shadowy legend in the intelligence community. He was never the man behind the dramatic acts of terrorism that made their way onto the news, or the quieter, less-publicized attacks on the economy or intelligence network. Instead, he was the man behind those men. He sought out those with hatred of America and a desire to channel it, and he groomed them, providing them with funds and weapons and guidance. He was a kingmaker for the worst of the worst.

Ben Finney had been his newest recruit. Ayel had described the position as ‘doing whatever needs done on the computer,’ which could mean anything from hacking into other networks or systems to knowing how to use Excel. And now it fell on Jim to use that position to find and infiltrate his operation. It wouldn’t be enough to just take out Nero. Jim had to identify everyone he’d ever helped, for each one of them was a separate threat. And with an enemy as smart as Nero evidently was, Jim suspected that it wouldn’t be a simple matter of hacking the right computer and finding a list of names. It was going to involve embedding himself in Nero’s operation, working his way into the inner circle. It was going to be a long, dangerous, compromising job.

Jim was itching to get started.

*****

After nearly half an hour of driving through Rome’s infamous traffic, the cab slowed to a stop at the curb outside of a small butcher shop. It didn’t look like much, but it was the location that Ayel had given Finney.

The silence in the taxi took on a different, more expectant quality. Jim faked a stretch and used the motion to subtly remove his comm from his ear. He folded it into a slim stack of euros and passed the bundle through the open partition to Spock. His partner took it and gave Jim an unusually solemn look.

Spock was usually a rigid professional in the field, leaving the levity and banter to the rest of the team. He rarely displayed any kind of emotion in his work, preferring to detach himself to get the job done. Jim understood that, he really did. Some days he wished he were better at doing the same thing. And he’d known Spock long enough to understand that rarely showing emotions didn’t mean he didn’t have them. And he thought he could guess what those emotions were right about now.

Spock knew the magnitude of the risk Jim was taking. Risk was part of the job, of course, but knowing that didn’t always make it easier to accept. Nero was as bad as they got, a terrible combination of power, intelligence, and ruthlessness. And Jim was heading into the heart of his empire, all but alone. Spock may have impressive mental discipline, but Jim had become his friend as well as his teammate over the years, and professionalism could only help so much.

“Are you certain this is the correct destination?” he asked carefully, face turned towards the windshield but eyes locked with Jim’s in the rearview mirror.

Jim understood the message behind the question. Spock wanted him to wait, to think this through, to find another way. And maybe that was possible. Maybe in a couple of weeks or months or years, there would be another opportunity for CIA intervention that allowed for more than a single operative. Maybe Nero would slip up somehow and they could nail him then. Maybe he would get struck by lightning tomorrow and this all would have been for nothing. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But maybes weren’t good enough. Not for this mission. Not when it had cost Jim so much. He had poured his very soul into it, and if he gave it up, he was afraid of what he would be left with.

“I’m where I need to be,” he told Spock, quiet but firm.

He leaned away from the partition and pushed his door open. Before climbing out though, he turned back to his partner one last time.

“Thanks,” he said, solemn and earnest.

Spock just gave him a nod. Jim turned his back before he could have any doubts, and got out of the cab. He grabbed Finney’s suitcase from the trunk and wheeled it behind him into the butcher shop. While the sign at the door professed it to be open, no one but the burly, grim-faced butcher himself was inside. Looking at some of the meat that was on display, Jim suspected he knew why.

“I’d like a half pound of the wolf you got in yesterday,” he said once he’d reached the counter.

He noticed the hand that the butcher kept hidden from sight, and he suspected it was currently holding a gun pointed in his direction. He made sure to stay outwardly relaxed as the man gave him a cursory visual scan.

“We do not stock wolf meat here,” he dismissed. “You will have to look elsewhere.”

“That’s a shame,” Jim sighed. “My wife had a recipe she wanted to try.”

When he uttered the last word of the code phrase, the butcher removed his hand from the hidden gun and lifted a portion of the counter. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder and Jim followed him through a curtain and into a rather dank meat locker, where unidentifiable bloodless animal carcasses dangled from the ceiling. It didn’t feel like the most auspicious start to a mission.

An hour later, Jim had been thoroughly searched, scanned, and questioned. The “butcher” was much more conscientious about screening for points of suspicion than he was about keeping meat safe for human consumption, but Jim still passed his inspection. After being declared clean, he was loaded into the back of a meat truck for a long, cold, boring drive. He assumed that the purpose of the truck was to prevent him from seeing where he was being taken, but the lack of windows didn’t render him totally unaware. He listened carefully to the muffled sounds he could hear, noted the different feel of the roads, the turns that were taken, memorizing everything.

After nearly three hours of driving, the truck rumbled to a stop and the doors were pulled open by a different man. He searched Jim one more time and then led him out into a massive garage and through some kind of service entrance. Once they made it through the service areas, their surroundings improved remarkably in quality, and Jim looked around with surprise that he didn’t have to fake. He’d encountered a lot of terrorists in his time with the CIA, and they weren’t usually living in the lap of luxury.

But nothing about Nero was by the book, and his base was no different. In fact, it didn’t look like a base at all, but rather a sprawling luxury villa. Fine art hung on the walls of hallways that were wide and airy, floored in hardwood or marble or rich carpet. Windows looked out over expansive grounds that were clearly well maintained. The high stone walls surrounding those grounds in the distance marred the scene a little, but evidently Nero was unwilling to compromise on security for the sake of aesthetics.

“Don’t get used to it,” Jim’s guide advised when he saw him looking around. “They may have hired you for your brain, but that don’t mean you get to live up here with the bosses. You’ll be working in the basement with the rest of us.”

“Great. I love basements.”

He got no response. Soon, they stopped in front of a door.

“Boss is through there,” the guide said, jerking a head toward the door. “Look sharp.”

Jim knew that ‘boss’ couldn’t mean Nero, not this early in the game, but his stomach still jolted anyway. When the other man showed no intention of going in, Jim steadied himself and pushed the door open. He emerged into a study that was as nice as he would have expected from the rest of the building. But he focused more on the room’s occupant than the decor.

The man standing behind the desk couldn’t have been taller than 5’9”, but he still had a commanding presence that dared anyone to try belittling him. There was a sharp intelligence in his dark eyes as they swept over Jim, and he studied him far more carefully than even the butcher had. Jim set his expression and waited, praying silently that their intelligence had been correct and that there was no way anyone from Nero’s organization could know what Ben Finney looked like.

“Hope your skills are as good as your looks,” the man said eventually.

Jim blinked and grinned, trying on a charming look.

“Even better, if you can believe it,” he said. “You Ayel?”

The man nodded, but he didn’t extend his hand for a shake. Fine by Jim. He did take a step closer though, squarely into Jim’s personal space. Despite being three inches shorter, Ayel still managed an intimidating presence. Any trace of lightness was gone from his intense gaze as he stared up at Jim.

“You’ve got a set of skills that we need around here,” he said. “You can be useful to us, and you’d better be. But don’t think that usefulness makes you important. You step out of line, you do anything to compromise or endanger this operation, and I will feed you your own guts, you understand?”

What a cheery welcome. Jim nodded tightly, showing a little of the nervousness he figured Ben Finney would feel after a threat like that.

“I understand,” he said when Ayel still didn’t back out of his space.

“Good. Welcome to Narada. You start work tomorrow. If you have any questions, bother someone else with them.”

Ayel waved him off, and Jim left the office. He crashed right into the man waiting on the other side of the door.

“Sorry,” he said automatically, reaching out to steady his unintended victim.

“No, no, it is my fault. I should not have been standing so close. I was merely eager to meet you.”

Jim finally got a good look at the man, and he had to work hard to keep from staring. “The man” could have been more accurately described as “the kid”, as he didn’t look older than twenty. He had sandy hair and sky-blue eyes that were far too innocent for the line of work he had to be in. And dressed in cutoff jeans and a Roscosmos T-shirt, he looked like he belonged on some university quad throwing a frisbee around or cramming for a final, not in an evil crime lord’s compound.

“Wait, what?” Jim asked when he finally remembered that the kid had said something. “You knew I was coming?”

“Of course. You are to be my new roommate.”

Jim felt his eyebrows climb.

“Roommate?” he repeated dubiously.

The kid had been giving Jim a smile that was small and cautious, but apparently genuine. At Jim’s tone though, the smile vanished and he looked at the ground.

“I am sure that you would prefer to be alone,” he said. “I am sorry that there are not more rooms available. If you find me objectionable, I am sure you could ask to stay in the bunk rooms with the…guards.”

His tone and demeanor made Jim feel inexplicably guilty. It was ridiculous, he knew, to worry about hurting a criminal’s feelings. And yet…

“Hey, that’s not what I meant at all,” he said. “Just wasn’t the kind of job I was expecting a welcome wagon for, but it’s nice to meet you. I’m Ben.”

The kid brightened a bit, looking up at Jim again.

“Chekov,” he introduced, reaching out a hand to shake. “Pavel Andrievich. I am responsible for Mr. Nero’s finances.”

Jim had to hide another flash of surprise at that piece of news. This Chekov had to be some kind of genius to land a job like that so young.

Chekov gave him a tour. Narada turned out to be a large estate on the coast, parts of the house actually built into the cliff overlooking the sea. There were only two levels aboveground in the nice part. Jim saw the least of those, as they were reserved for Nero and his closest associates. Underground though was more along the lines of what he’d been expecting when he’d signed up for this mission. Bunk rooms for the evidently numerous guards and mercenaries employed by Nero, training rooms, a mess hall, a computer room. That, Jim discovered, was where he and Chekov would be spending most of their time. It was small, with room for just two desks facing each other. But it was stocked with state-of-the-art tech. Someone had hung a ludicrous number of cat posters on the concrete walls, and Jim was afraid to ask if they were ironic or not.

The tour culminated in a small bedroom that looked surprisingly like a college dorm. It was a simple, windowless rectangle with two twin beds against opposite walls, each with a short set of drawers at its feet. The only thing missing was the desk with the shitty lamp that would drive any co-ed naïve enough to try to use it blind. One side was bare, with nothing but Finney’s suitcase sitting on the bed. The other side was plastered with posters, as if it really were a college dorm. Jim squinted at them, and got an odd feeling in his gut.

“I see you’re a fan of space,” he commented. Pictures from the Hubble space telescope, schematics of various spacecraft, an infographic with the atmospheric makeup of the different planets in the solar system, they hung all over Chekov’s side of the room. There were even a bunch of glow-in-the-dark stars dotting his half of the ceiling.

Chekov nodded, the most genuine smile yet lighting up his face.

“Ever since I was a boy, I dreamed of being a cosmonaut.”

Jim had to turn away. He opened Finney’s suitcase and began to rummage through it, just to have something to do.

This was the last thing he needed - to feel some kind of kinship with the enemy. Because that had been his dream once too. He’d felt drawn to the stars since childhood, felt their pull like a tantalizing whisper in his very blood. He’d wanted to reach out and touch those stars, to be among them, exploring, discovering. He’d wanted to be the first to set foot on other planets, to make his mark. He’d wanted to take stupid selfies with the galaxy itself in the background, captioning them with something dumb and guaranteed to bring a reluctant smile to-

Well. He’d wanted a lot of things. Now all he wanted was Nero’s downfall.

“So, what do you think?” Chekov asked.

Jim had nearly forgotten about him. He forced himself back into Finney’s headspace and turned back around to face him.

“It’s a lot nicer than I imagined,” he said. “All of it.”

Chekov nodded, although there was suddenly something strained about his smile.

“I am glad you think so,” he said. “I am afraid you will be spending quite a lot of time here.”

“Well yeah, I knew that when I signed up.”

“Yes, but…sometimes Mr. Ayel is not, eh, _clear_ on all of the terms of employment when he is recruiting. You see, security is essential to this operation, and every new recruit represents a potential security risk. Until Mr. Ayel and Mr. Nero can be sure of your trustworthiness, you will not be allowed to leave.”

Chekov looked at Jim nervously once he had finished speaking, evidently bracing for some kind of tantrum. He needn’t have worried. Jim couldn’t say that the news was ideal, but it wasn’t exactly a surprise. He hadn’t been counting on being able to contact his team soon. It was just one more reason for him to start building trust here as quickly as possible.

“Well then, I guess it’s good that I’m a trustworthy guy,” he told Chekov with a smile. “I’m sure I can find things to do around here in the meantime.”

Like working to bring down the man who had stolen everything from him.

*****

In the days that followed, Jim did his best to keep his head down and do the job that Ben Finney had been hired to do. That turned out to mean a lot of bolstering of Narada’s electronic security systems, and hacking into whatever other systems or networks he’d been assigned. He was usually looking for information, but sometimes he was planting bugs or viruses. He tried to do as little damage as possible, but he had to sell it. As the new guy, his work was under intense scrutiny, and stopping Nero and his disciples once and for all was more important than a few security systems in the long run.

Along with doing his job, Jim did his best to start integrating himself into the soul of the operation. There were about fifty people based at Narada, in the underground complex anyway. Many of them were guards, keeping watch over the house and grounds in shifts. But several of them were more specialized operatives, men whose job it was to run the few more violent jobs that Nero didn’t delegate to his clients. Jim tried to talk to as many as he could, using some of that touted Kirk charm to start ingratiating himself, building some trust.

It worked better in some cases than in others. Some regarded him with mistrust or indifference, but many seemed receptive to him, inviting him to eat with them or join their nightly card games. Most were what he’d expected; different flavors of thug.

But what Jim hadn’t been expecting was an effervescent teenage Russian roommate. Clocking in at nineteen years old, Pavel Chekov had also been recruited for his brain. The kid was a numbers genius. He could keep track of the constantly moving finances of Nero’s entire operation, seemingly pulling money out of thin air and hiding it with apparent ease. Watching him work, it was no wonder to Jim that the CIA hadn’t been able to track Nero through his finances, at least in the last three years that Chekov had been in charge of them. But despite being good at his job, he seemed to take about as much satisfaction from it as Jim did his. The difference being, of course, that Jim was doing his out of necessity, while Chekov had, presumably, signed up for it.

Now, Jim wasn’t naïve. He knew that a lot of kids got sucked into the wrong crowd young and then never left. But he’d also come into contact with a lot of those kids. He knew the type. And Chekov didn’t seem to fit it. He didn’t seem bitter or angry, didn’t seem to have an axe to grind with the world at large. He just seemed like a normal kid, or as normal as teenaged geniuses could be. Jim couldn’t figure him out. At all.

“Seriously, was there like a sale online or something?” he asked one day, staring at the cat posters in the computer room. “The space posters I get, but these things are just unsettling. That one’s been eyeing me.”

Chekov didn’t even look up from his computer.

“That is Alfred. Many find him disturbing at first. You will get used to him.”

Jim stared down Alfred and lost. Just one more piece of the Chekov puzzle he didn’t understand.

The kid seemed to have taken something of a shine to Jim. He’d walked on tiptoes around him for the first day or so, but when he realized that Jim was actually as decent a human being as he could be while still selling his cover, he began to open up. He seemed to enjoy having someone around that he could talk to on a level that went above sports, guns, and poker. When they were working, he was all professional focus and efficiency, but when they stepped away from their computers, he would begin talking Jim’s ear off. He’d chatter about everything from theoretical mathematics to what types of wildflowers grew in Italy. It could have been annoying, but there was something about the kid that made him endearing rather than irritating. It was really something of a problem.

Because while it could be easy to forget while talking to him that Chekov played an important role in what amounted to a terrorist organization, it didn’t make it any less true. What would happen to Chekov when Jim and his team finally stormed Narada and tore it to the ground? Would he be shipped off to some hole of a prison, never to be heard from again? Would he even survive the takedown?

Come to think of it, what would happen to Jim?

For as long as he’d known about Nero, catching him had always been sort of a distant goal, more of a concept than something that actually seemed achievable. But as Jim settled into his role as Finney and delved deeper and deeper into Nero’s organization, he actually started to believe that he could do it. But where once that prospect had brought only anticipation and need, now it was accompanied by a creeping discomfort. He’d been so consumed with his need for vengeance - no, justice, his need for _justice_ \- that he’d had little time for much else. He’d had his work, of course, and his team, but his team was part of his work and his work was part of his quest.

After that quest was over there would still be missions to run, bad guys to stop, people to save. And there would still be lonely nights, takeout dinners eaten in an empty apartment, not even a dog for company because of his unpredictable schedule. There would still be a parade of attractive men and women whose names Jim never remembered; people who should’ve been good distractions but somehow left him feeling lonelier than before. There would still be evenings spent downing numbing shots of tequila, which he happened to hate the taste of but was the only liquor unassociated with memories he had to keep buried. There would still be mornings with no one on the other side of the bed when he woke up.

Was that really all he had to look forward to when all of this was over? His work, and doing everything he could not to think about anything outside of it?

 _At least you’ll finally have peace_ , part of him thought.

But suddenly that was starting to feel like less than it used to.

“You are very quiet tonight, Ben.”

Jim blinked and looked up. It was fairly late, and he and Chekov had gone back to their room for lack of anything better to do. Jim realized that he’d been staring blankly at a poster of the Eagle Nebula for the last half hour.

Chekov misinterpreted his solemn mood.

“You are getting homesick, yes?” he said sympathetically. “I know that it is hard to be here for so long without being able to leave.”

Jim appreciated where the kid was coming from, even if he was a little off-base.

“It’s not so bad,” he said, trying to shake himself out of it. He offered Chekov a small smile. “Don’t have much of a home to be sick for.”

Chekov’s expression fell a little.

“No family?” he asked.

Jim grimaced and shook his head. There was only his brother left, and they barely spoke, an unfortunate consequence of Jim’s line of work.

“None to speak of.”

Chekov sat up, turning to face Jim fully.

“But surely you must have someone,” he insisted. “A person who brings joy to your life, purpose. A person who makes all of this-” he gestured around their cramped room, “worth it. Or friends, at least?”

Jim looked away from his earnest blue gaze, stomach twisting. He had friends, yes. His team had become like a family to him. But that was because his work had become his life. The kind of love that Chekov was talking about had been absent from Jim’s life for a long time. And not a day went by that he didn’t miss it.

“I did, once.” He was dangerously close to slipping out of character, but surely Finney must have been in love at some point too? And one of the first rules of telling a good lie was to dress it in truth. “I had someone.”

“You lost her?” Chekov’s voice had become a dismayed whisper.

Jim was silent. Chekov interpreted it correctly this time.

“You lost…him?”

Jim’s throat tightened. He stared at the ceiling, wrestling with ghosts that had haunted him for eight years.

“I lost everything,” he said quietly.

But that wasn’t entirely true, was it? Some things he’d lost. And some things he’d thrown away.

*****

That night, Jim dreamed.

He dreamed of somber faces and dark clothes, of slow music and rambling eulogies. He dreamed of overwhelming grief, and the man that kept him from drowning in it.

_“You holding up okay?”_

_Jim leaned into Bones’ side, doing his best to tune out the funeral reception carrying on around them. The past week had been the most exhausting of his life, and he knew he’d only gotten through it with his boyfriend’s support. But he also wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep going like this. He’d buried his mother today._

_“I’m never going to see her again.”_

_It was something he’d known, on an intellectual level, but that he hadn’t really appreciated. Not until he’d watched the first shovel of dirt, thrown by his older brother, hit the top of that handsome walnut casket. It had been his job to cast the second shovelful, and it was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done._

_Bones sighed, wrapping his arm around Jim and holding him close. He pressed his lips to Jim’s temple._

_“Wanna get out of here?” he murmured._

_Jim glanced around the living room of the house he’d grown up in, packed with people dressed in black. Some of them he’d known his entire life, some of them were complete strangers. And all of them made him feel trapped, hunted. They all wanted to give him their condolences, tell him what a great woman his mother had been. As if he didn’t know that. As if he wanted to be reminded of just how much he’d lost._

_He’d done what he could for his mother. The living would just have to take care of themselves._

_He nodded, and Bones tugged him into motion, leading him out the backdoor and into the yard. He wasn’t sure where they were headed, until Bones stopped him at the base of the oak tree that cast the whole yard in shade. He looked up, spotting the bottom of the trapdoor that led to the treehouse that his mother had built for him and Sam when they were little._

_His throat burned and he swallowed hard as memories washed over him. But they were good memories, and they brought happiness with the pain, unlike the atmosphere that he’d left behind in the house. He knew he couldn’t look at Bones without losing control, so he just gripped the planks nailed securely into the trunk of the tree and began to climb._

_He had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment when he emerged into the little wooden cabin. It had been swept out recently, and there was a pile of old blankets in the corner, next to a bottle of Jim’s favorite whiskey. The simple, tender thoughtfulness of the gesture damn near overwhelmed him._

_Once he’d successfully tamped down on his tears, he pulled himself inside and turned to stick his head out of the trapdoor. Bones was standing at the base of the tree, peering up at him. Jim could tell he was waiting to see if he wanted to be left alone._

_Well, fuck that._

_“You won’t like what happens if I have to drink this entire bottle by myself!” he called down._

_Bones gave him a small smile and started climbing. Jim helped him inside once he got to the top, and greeted him with a kiss. It started out light, but Jim quickly lost himself in it, his gratitude and grief pouring out of him. He didn’t realize just how much the emotion had overflowed until he felt Bones’ gentle hands on his face, wiping at the tear tracks on his cheeks._

_Jim broke away, but he kept his arms around Bones’ neck and pressed their foreheads together._

_“Thank you,” he whispered, knowing that Bones already understood but needing to say it anyway._

_“Thank you for letting me help,” was the soft reply._

_They both knew that Jim was never the best at admitting when he needed help, and he was even worse at accepting it. But Bones had never let that stop him. He’d never fallen for any of Jim’s standard deflection tactics. From the very beginning, he’d had the uncanny ability to see right down to Jim’s soul and, wonder of wonders, he didn’t run from what he saw there._

_He pressed a quick kiss to Jim’s cheek and pulled away, shrugging off his suit jacket and reaching for the blankets. He spread them out in the small space and settled down, back to one of the walls. He held out an arm, and Jim tucked himself against his side, curling into his steady warmth._

_Bones grabbed the bottle of whiskey with his free hand and worked the stopper out with his teeth. He held it out to Jim, who scrubbed the back of his hand over his eyes and took it with grateful bemusement._

_“What, no psychology lecture about how I need to feel my feelings in order to heal properly?” he asked._

_Bones snorted and settled more comfortably against the wall, tightening his arm around Jim._

_“You’ve felt enough feelings today, darlin’,” he said. “They’ll keep.” He paused for a moment, and then sighed. “You did your momma proud today, Jim. But no one can keep up a strong front forever, and you don’t have to. It’s not dishonoring her.”_

_Jim didn’t realize how much he’d needed to hear that, until Bones’ words released some tight knot of fear and dread in his chest. He swallowed hard and nodded, and raised the whiskey bottle to his lips. The liquor burned on the way down, the warmth of it pushing back some of the cold, empty ache in his chest. He took another swallow, and held the bottle up to Bones, who accepted it wordlessly and took a sip of his own. They passed it back and forth in silence for a while, Bones drinking less than Jim did._

_Time lost its meaning up there in the haven of Jim’s childhood treehouse and his lover’s arms. He anchored himself to the steady beat of Bones’ heart in his ear, the measured rhythm of his breaths. They became the only real things in the world._

_He didn’t protest when Bones finally took the whiskey from him with gentle hands and set it aside. He just squeezed his eyes shut and curled closer to Bones, fisting a hand in his shirt. The fabric was a bit damp, but neither of them commented._

_“I’m so fucking angry,” Jim whispered eventually, and it shouldn’t have been a revelation, but somehow it was._

_It wasn’t that he was a stranger to being angry. George Kirk had died in a car accident trying to get his wife to the hospital while she was in labor, and from the age that Jim had been able to understand that, he’d been unable to shake the weight of it. He knew that his mother didn’t blame him, but it was hard to remember that, to really believe it. Especially when he could tell that his brother_ did _blame him, even if it was unconsciously._

_Little Jimmy Kirk had had a rough adolescence, trying to be good enough to warrant his father’s sacrifice while at the same time wishing more than anything to shuck all that responsibility. It hadn’t helped that his mom had been struggling to cope with her own loss. She would be mysteriously gone for long periods of time, leaving her sons with the piece of garbage she’d married when Jim was three. Jim had begun lashing out, maybe for attention, maybe to try to get rid of some of the furious tangle of emotions that constantly felt like it was burning a hole in his gut._

_After Jim had stolen his father’s old car and nearly gotten himself killed crashing it, Winona had taken a closer look at her family. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that the shitstain she’d married was abusing her sons, mostly verbally, but with a few blows scattered in the mix. No one had really heard from Frank since. No one missed him._

_Winona had taken to parenthood with a vengeance after that, like she was trying to make up for the years she’d been absent, and for Sam and Jim’s missing father as well. She’d stopped vanishing for days or weeks at a time, had started paying attention. She’d begun by showing Jim how to fix up cars, a skill he hadn’t even known she’d possessed. They’d restored George’s car together, a process that had made Jim feel closer to both of his parents._

_But Jim’s anger and guilt and frustration hadn’t gone away entirely. He still felt like he was being crushed sometimes under the weight of his father’s sacrifice. He resented the teachers who tried to pity him, hated the classmates who whispered about him behind their hands. He hated being bored to tears in classes that felt like they were progressing at a snail’s pace, hated being treated like an idiot for the bad grades he got because he just didn’t see the point._

_But no matter how many mistakes he made, no matter the stunts he pulled, no matter how much he gave up on himself, his mom never once gave up on him. When he got in trouble at school, she would come pick him up and drive him out of the city to an old mountain hiking trail that hardly anyone knew about. They would race each other to the top, and then Jim would shout and yell until he didn’t feel like he was going to explode._

_Jim would still be grounded when he got back, but he’d be grounded with full access to his father’s library. His mom would leave certain books out for him sometimes, ones that had been his father’s favorites, and he’d quickly developed a love of the classics. When Winona had realized that part of his trouble came from being so far ahead of the rest of the kids his age, she’d gone to the administration and demanded that he be placed in higher level classes. And when they’d told her that Jim was too troubled to succeed, she’d promptly told them to go fuck themselves (words that she would always deny, but Jim had been sitting outside of the administrator’s office and she hadn’t been quiet about it) and transferred her son to a magnet school that had actually challenged him._

_She’d guided Jim through the turbulence of his youth, helped him live up to his potential instead of being crushed by it. She’d believed in him when even he hadn’t, and she’d never once tried to limit his dreams. She’d stood behind him with her hands on his shoulders while he opened the envelope from Harvard, had laughed and cried and squeezed him until neither of them could breathe when it turned out to be an acceptance. And even when Jim had gone off to college and started figuring out his own way, she’d still been there, never once failing to answer the phone when he called, whether it was at 2 AM or the middle of a workday._

_And now she was gone, dead from a brain aneurism. There one moment and gone the next, vanished just like that, without even a chance at goodbye or some kind of closure._

_“It’s not fair,” he said to Bones, and he knew it sounded childish but he was feeling as lost as he had when he was a child._

_“No, it’s not,” Bones agreed._

_“The world…” Jim trailed off. He’d never been that great at exposing his feelings, his perceived weaknesses. But this was Bones, and Bones had always been the exception. “The world just feels that much scarier without her in it.”_

_Bones’ arms tightened around him at the admission. He sighed and pressed a kiss to Jim’s head._

_“I know,” he murmured. “But she gave you what you need to face it without her. And I know that nothing will ever be able to make up for her loss, but you’re still not alone. And you and I will just sit here until the rest of the world doesn’t feel quite as daunting. Okay?”_

_Jim’s throat closed up, and he knew he didn’t have a prayer of saying anything. And through the warm haze of the alcohol and the dark weight of his grief, something in his chest burned stronger than both. It was love, he knew, but it was love like he hadn’t realized it was possible to experience it. It was love that went beyond passion or affection or familiarity. It was love that was anchored in the soul, inexorable and impossible to ignore. It was the kind of love that Winona had talked about sometimes when she told her boys about their father, the kind of love that made her eyes soft but also filled them with so much pain._

_And it was scarier than anything that could possibly be waiting for Jim out there in the rest of the world._

Jim’s face was wet when he woke. He scrubbed his palms over his face and glanced across the room, checking to see if Chekov had seen. The kid was still sawing logs, his mouth hanging open slightly. Jim sat up and glared at him. He’d had to go poking at old wounds, dredging up memories that Jim worked damn hard to keep locked down.

But Chekov looked even younger and more innocent asleep, and Jim couldn’t sustain his anger for long. Not when he knew damn well who was really to blame for his pain.

What he normally did when he started missing Bones even worse than usual was apply copious amounts of alcohol to the problem or find someone to help him forget everything for an hour, if he was lucky. But neither of those options were really available to him this time. He knew he could find some liquor in the mess or stashed in the bunk rooms, but getting drunk while on a mission was such a colossally bad idea as to be almost laughable. As for sex…if he really tried, he could probably manage to find someone here willing to let off a little steam with him. But that would be an unnecessary complication and danger for a mission that was going to be hard enough as it was.

So he just listened to Chekov snore and stared at the ridiculous stars on the ceiling and tried to turn his longing into determination instead.

*****

The end of his second week at Narada saw Jim slowly working his way into a few social circles. He thought he was doing pretty well, especially when Hendorff offered to spar with him when they got off duty. When he got on the mat with the burly guard though, it took less than thirty seconds for Jim to realize that Hendorff had only been looking for someone he could beat up without much effort. Jim Kirk was not that someone. But was Ben Finney?

Jim let a few of Hendorff’s vicious punches land, returning them with the kind of formless strength that someone who’d watched a few too many movies without being in many fights of his own might use. It seemed to work, for a little while. He could take the hits, and no one in the small audience that had gathered to watch the new guy get pummeled seemed to have any suspicions.

But then Hendorff kicked Jim’s knee out from under him while simultaneously slamming a fist into his shoulder. The combination of blows sent him crashing to the ground at an angle he wasn’t expecting, and instead of rolling on impact as he’d intended, he landed awkwardly on his left hand. It twisted sharply under his weight and sent pain shooting up his entire arm. He gasped, his eyes watering involuntarily.

Suddenly, Jim couldn’t afford to let things continue like this. A serious injury could spell disaster for him. And hey, everyone had a few lucky hits in them, even Ben Finney.

Jim surged to his feet just as Hendorff was bending over him to deliver another punch. He dodged the blow and landed one his own, driving his knee squarely into his opponent’s solar plexus. While Hendorff was still gasping from that, Jim spun to the side and swung his good hand down in a sort of karate chop to the back of his opponent’s neck. It was a move that’d had Sulu close to rolling on the CIA training room floor with laughter the first time he’d seen it, but Jim maintained that it could look as stupid as it wanted, it was still effective.

It certainly sent Hendorff dropping to the floor in a hurry, but he didn’t stay there long. He tried unsuccessfully to kick Jim’s leg out again, and then came up swinging. Jim met him fearlessly, and their fight got real interesting real fast. Within moments, Jim had Hendorff on the ground again, pinned to the sparring mat and growing increasingly redder in the face due to the chokehold cutting off his air supply.

“Enough.”

The voice was quiet, but it still cut through the excited chatter of the gathered men. Jim wasn’t usually the type to snap to follow orders, but he knew that Finney would listen to that command. He released his hold on Hendorff and rolled away, looking up to see Ayel standing over them both, arms crossed and face blank. Hendorff scrambled to his feet and Jim followed suit, suppressing a wince as his wrist throbbed. Neither of them tried to offer any excuses.

“While I applaud the initiative to hone your combat skills,” Ayel said finally, “if you’re beat to hell, you can’t do your jobs. If you’re gonna spar, I’d better not see you compromised afterward. Clear?”

Everyone nodded, and Ayel waved a hand. The men scattered, but Ayel stopped Jim before he could follow.

“Thought I was gonna have to keep you from getting killed,” he said, eyeing Jim thoughtfully. “We don’t keep Hendorff around for his personality, and you eggheads aren’t usually the sturdy type. But looks like I was sparing Hendorff a beating, not you.”

Jim shrugged, silently berating himself for letting Hendorff get to him. He’d always had issues with turning the other cheek.

“My dad was military,” he said, recalling the fact from Finney’s profile. “He made sure I knew how to look after myself.”

“Apparently he did a good job. I’ll keep that in mind. Looks like you may be an even more useful find than I realized.”

Great. He’d really been hoping to be more useful to terrorists.

*****

Jim’s wrist was still throbbing when he returned to his room later that evening. He considered hunting down some ice for it, but he’d been up half the night before cracking some of the toughest encryption he’d faced yet, and his fight with Hendorff had left him even more exhausted. He elected to flop face-first onto his bed and stay there.

It was therefore an entirely welcome surprise when Chekov showed up several minutes later with a bucket of ice and a towel. Jim rolled onto his back and stared as the kid wrapped a handful of ice and held it out to him.

“Bless you, you tiny Soviet miracle,” he said fervently, holding the cold bundle to his wrist. “Maybe angels were invented in Russia.”

“There is no maybe about it,” Chekov said, straight-faced. “It is well-known fact.”

Jim didn’t even bother arguing with him.

“How did you know?” he asked, gesturing vaguely with his wounded wrist.

Some of the amusement faded from Chekov’s eyes.

“I overheard some of the men giving Charles a hard time.”

“Charles?”

“Hendorff,” Chekov clarified.

Jim raised an eyebrow.

“He doesn’t seem like a Charles.”

Chekov gave Jim a stern look that somehow managed to be weirdly endearing.

“They were talking about how the new guy took him down without breaking a sweat, asking him if he was sure that he could handle himself. He got annoyed with them, boasted that he had injured your wrist.”

Jim grimaced.

“Well, he wasn’t wrong.”

“You must be careful, Ben,” Chekov said, earnest and unusually solemn. “Your value may not always be enough to protect you, if you make too many enemies here.”

Jim was touched by the warning. He reminded himself, as he found himself having to do more and more frequently, that Chekov worked for Nero, and that when Jim brought this organization to its knees, the kid would end up behind bars with the rest of them.

“I came here to make money, not friends,” he dismissed. “And I can look after myself.”

*****

The next morning, Jim’s wrist was still swollen and painful. It was also an impressive shade of purple.

“That does not look good,” Chekov remarked as the two of them sat down at their computers. He poked curiously at the injury. Jim grimaced and tugged his arm away.

“It’s just a sprain,” he said. He’d broken enough bones to know the difference.

“Still, you should not ignore it. This is not the kind of place where you want to be working at anything less than optimal condition.”

Well that much, Jim believed.

“Yeah well, what am I supposed to do about it?” he grumbled, tapping experimentally at his keyboard. It hurt. “It’s not like I can just go get it looked at. I’m still on double secret probation.”

“And if you had gotten hurt here six months ago, you would have been most unfortunate. But we have a doctor on site now.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Quite a good one, for an American. Mr. Nero had him brought in when his operatives kept coming back hurt. Easier to avoid questions when we do not have to go to the hospital to be treated.”

“Makes sense.”

And it did, but Jim found it interesting that this had only become a problem a few months ago. Was Nero stepping up his operations? He and his people only occasionally got their hands dirty. If that was changing, Jim wanted to know why.

“All right, where can I find him?” he asked.

“I will take you there. Just to make sure you do not come out in worse shape than you went in.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chekov smirked a little.

“As I said, he is a very skilled doctor,” the kid hedged. “But his bedside manner is, er, a bit…nonexistent.”

Great. Nero had probably found some disgraced surgeon with a god complex and a chip on his shoulder. The type to enjoy being able to play with lives without worrying about rules and consequences. Just the kind of person Jim wanted taking care of him.

“He really can help you, Ben,” Chekov insisted, noting Jim’s displeasure. “But trust me, you will be glad for the escort.”

Jim still wasn’t entirely convinced, but he followed Chekov out of the underground levels and into the nicer part of theestate, where Nero himself lived and worked.

“Guess this guy’s a favorite of the boss, huh?” he speculated.

“I have heard that they do spend some time together.” Chekov shrugged, unconcerned. “Here we are.”

They’d stopped in front of a door, and Chekov pushed it open. Jim followed him into what looked like a suite of rooms that had been converted into a doctor’s office. The floor was polished black and white marble, and two of the walls were lined with glass-fronted cabinets containing all manner of medical supplies. Two beds were pushed against another wall, their sheets crisp and white. There was another door across the room, beside a desk scattered with various medical journals and a few folders. There was a single photo on the desk, of a beaming little girl, her dark brown hair gathered up in pigtails, hazel eyes sparkling with delight as she held up a sea urchin in both hands for the inspection of whoever was taking the picture. It was a face that didn’t belong in a place like this.

“Doctor?” Chekov called, crossing the room to knock on the other door. “I have brought you a patient.”

A gruff voice called back.

“If Riley’s got another dozen pencils stuck up his nose, you can both just turn right around and-” the tirade broke off abruptly as the door swung open and the speaker caught sight of the people waiting for him.

Jim’s entire world was frozen.

Over the years, he’d had to get good at expecting surprises and remaining unflappable in the face of just about anything. He’d thought that not much could catch him off guard. But he hadn’t been guarding for this.

Stunned didn’t even begin to cover it. His ears rang and his fingers numbed and the bottom of his stomach plummeted several feet. He was rooted to the spot, capable of nothing other than staring. He wasn’t the only one.

“Ben Finney, meet Dr. McCoy,” Chekov said, cheerfully oblivious to the way the other two men were gaping at each other. “Doctor, Ben needs your help. He hurt his wrist.”

Jim could barely even feel his wrist. It was irrelevant, just like every single other goddamn thing but for the man standing in front of him. All of reality had narrowed down to…to _Bones_.

…What.

What.

 _What_.

Jim blinked, and then blinked again. Bones was still there.

The last eight years had done little to him. There were a few more lines in his forehead, a new weight in those fathomless hazel eyes. But it was still him, still gorgeous, perfect him.

Jim had forgotten about that, somehow. His memory hadn’t done justice to the way one look at Bones could make his heart turn over. And in spite of _everything_ , his first, automatic reaction was sheer, wild _joy_.

Of course, that joy was very quickly followed by panic. One word from Bones and Jim’s cover would be blown to pieces while he was right in the belly of the beast.

But Bones would never do that.

Or would he? None of this made _sense_. Jim would’ve sworn that Bones would never betray him like that, despite what had happened between them. But before twenty seconds ago, Jim could never have imagined finding Bones in a place like this, working for someone like Nero. And yet here he was, in the heart of the evil that Jim had been trying to take down for the last eight years. And Jim could barely think, much less come up with a plan for damage control.

“I was just telling Ben how skilled you are, Doctor,” Chekov said, his expression growing a little more uncertain when both Jim and Bones remained rooted motionlessly in place. “And that he would be in good hands with you.”

And Jim hadn’t believed him. _Good hands_. Good lord, Chekov had no idea.

At the reminder of Jim’s injury, Bones seemed to shake himself out of his shock. Jim tensed even further, still trying to think his way out of whatever potential disaster was about to unfold. But his ability to think had been pretty well decimated by the sight of Bones, and it showed no signs of returning in time to stop this.

“I’ll take a look,” Bones said.

Jim could hear the slight waver in his voice but he doubted that Chekov could. He started breathing again, spots of darkness flickering at the edges of his vision.

Tearing his gaze from Jim, Bones finally looked at Chekov. He waved a hand impatiently.

“Go on, kid,” he dismissed. “ _Ben-_ ” his expression twisted just the slightest bit, “here doesn’t need a bodyguard.”

Chekov glanced at Jim, who managed a nod. He fled the room. The click of the door closing behind him sounded as loud as a gunshot. And Jim and Bones were left alone together for the first time in eight years.

So many thoughts and questions and accusations bounced around Jim’s head, but he found himself simply staring, drinking in the sight of Bones. This situation was ten kinds of fucked up, and it shouldn’t have felt so damn good to see him, but _Christ_ he’d missed this man.

“Thank you,” he said eventually, nodding a little at the door behind him to indicate the risk that had just walked out of it.

It was apparently the wrong thing to say. Bones’ expression clouded dangerously, his eyes dark with anger.

“I guess I should be the one thanking you,” he replied, and his voice was rough and bitter. It hurt to have that tone directed at Jim. It hurt a _lot_. “You told me you were doing me a favor when you left, but I always thought that was bullshit. Guess you were telling the truth though, if this is what you were leaving me for.”

Jim flinched. Was that really what Bones thought of him? That he would leave the love of his life to work for criminals and terrorists?

The hurt turned quickly to defensiveness as Jim’s brain finally began to sputter feebly back into function. He knew why he was there, but he also knew damn well that Bones couldn’t be there for the same reason. Even if there were the remotest possibility of Bones becoming a covert agent, the CIA would sure as hell have known about it if Nero’s organization had already been infiltrated. The implications twisted icy daggers in Jim’s gut, left him cold and sick.

“You’re one to talk,” he said, gesturing at their surroundings. “You know, when you said you wanted to spend your life helping people, I didn’t think this was what you had in mind.”

If Jim thought Bones’ eyes had been dark before, it was nothing compared to the fury that stormed in them in response to that comment. He all but growled as he stalked forward and shoved a hand into Jim’s chest, making him stumble back towards towards the door.

“Fuck you, _Ben_ ,” he hissed, the fury seeping into his voice as well. “You have no fucking _idea-_ ”

He broke off and shook his head, reaching past Jim to grab the door handle.

“I don’t owe you shit, including an explanation. My silence, you’ll get because I hate Nero more than I hate you. But that’s it.” He yanked the door open and shoved a stunned Jim through it.

Jim flinched back as the door slammed in his face. He stood there staring for what was probably several minutes, rubbing unconsciously at his chest, at the spot where Bones had touched him. It burned.

“Piece of work, ain’t he?”

Jim jumped and turned to look at the man who had just spoken, cursing at himself for losing focus so quickly. It was Finnegan, one of Narada’s guards.

“He’s…” Jim trailed off, his mind still reeling.

“Aw, was the scary doctor mean to you?” Finnegan asked mockingly into the silence.

Jim jumped again, having already forgotten that he was there. Fuck. _Fuck_. His focus was _gone_. There was nothing more dangerous when undercover.

_Get it together, Kirk._

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he said, giving Finnegan a forced smile.

What a load of bullshit. Jim could handle a lot of things. More than most, if he was being honest. It was what made him a good operative. But this…Jim didn’t even know how to _begin_ to handle this.


	3. Chapter 3

Jim made his way back to the basement in something of a daze. The numbing disbelief that had frozen his thoughts was starting to fade, leaving him with a reality that he had no idea how to accept.

_Bones was here_.

Bones was _here_ , at Narada, at the heart of Nero’s vile operation. Bones was _helping_ them. It was the deepest, most devastating kind of betrayal, and it left Jim gutted and reeling. And yet…

Bones hadn’t given him away, had promised his silence. And part of Jim must have believed that promise, because he hadn’t triggered his distress beacon and called in the cavalry in anticipation of a blown mission. No one had sounded an alarm, no guards had come to grab Jim, no bullet had pierced his back. And Bones had said that he hated Nero. It was hard to doubt that kind of vehemence.

But why the hell else could he be here?

Jim had been tempted countless times over the years to check up on Bones. With access to the CIA’s impressive information network, he could’ve done it with ease. He could’ve found photos and journal articles, could’ve tracked Bones’ career and checked on his personal life. He could’ve kept as much of Bones in his life as possible without actually making contact with him.

But Jim hadn’t trusted himself to do that. He’d known that once he started looking, he’d never be able to stop. And while he was a spy, it would’ve felt deeply, unforgivably wrong to spy on Bones. The man deserved better than that. It’d been hell sometimes, holding back, but it had also let him feel just the slightest bit less guilty for what had happened, what he’d done.

But now Jim was really regretting his restraint.

“Doctor McCoy fixed your wrist that quickly?” Chekov asked in surprise when Jim entered the computer room.

Jim stared at him blankly, still distracted by the thoughts and questions whirling through his brain. And then he remembered why he’d gone to Bones’ office in the first place. He hid his wrist behind his back.

“Well, you did say he was good,” he said to Chekov with a forced smile. “I just realized though, there was something I meant to ask him. I’ll be back.”

He ducked out of the computer room in a hurry, but he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He couldn’t actually go back to Bones, not before he knew more about what was going on, or could figure out a way to make sure that Bones really wouldn’t expose him. But his wrist really was bothering him, and Chekov would get suspicious if he saw it and it looked the same.

Eventually he just hunted unsuccessfully for some painkillers and successfully for a roll of duct tape. He bound his sprain as best he could with the tape, wrapping a scrap of fabric around it first so as not to lose every single hair on his forearm later. As he worked, he couldn’t help thinking about where he’d learned the technique.

_“Only you, Jim.”_

_Despite the rather all-consuming pain in his ankle, Jim spared a little energy for a show of indignation._

_“This could’ve happened to anyone,” he protested to the man crouching at his feet, probing at his swollen joint._

_“You think so, Jim?” Bones demanded. “Because I happen to think that unlike you, most people are born with brains in their heads, so they would be naturally disinclined to try to climb down cliffs to “rescue” baby animals that are doing perfectly fine on their own. God help the human race if that kind of stupidity could happen to anyone.”_

_“Come on, Bones, you have to admit that faun looked like it had a broken-”_

_Searing agony flared in Jim’s ankle, and he bit down a cry, choking out a string of curses instead. He dug his fingers into the boulder he was sitting on, scraping his skin on the rough stone._

_“Easy darlin’, that was the worst of it,” Bones said, his tone entirely different now. “I had to get it back in place, I’m sorry.”_

_Still gritting his teeth from the aftermath, Jim reached down wordlessly. Bones took his hand at once and Jim gripped it tight._

_This was supposed to have been a fun hike, a way to get away from the stress of higher education. It was supposed to have been a time for them to work on settling into the new nature of their relationship, which could at last actually be called that. And it had started out surprisingly well. Too well, apparently. With Jim’s luck, he really should’ve been expecting something like a dislocated ankle._

_“You…devious bastard,” he panted as the pain finally dulled into something more manageable. “If you were gonna distract me, there could’ve at least been some tongue involved.”_

_Bones rolled his eyes, some of the concern in his face giving way to exasperated fondness._

_“Well you were gonna to get the lecture anyway, so it seemed only reasonable to multitask.”_

_He pressed his lips to the back of Jim’s hand and then released it. He tugged off his shirt and snagged the folded knife from Jim’s belt to cut a strip of fabric from the hem._

_“Making a crop top, Bones?” Jim asked him. “I’ve gotta say, I wholeheartedly approve.”_

_“Don’t start. If you hadn’t dropped my first aid kit into a river-”_

_“That was an accident! I was looking for the bug spray, and I sneezed.”_

_“You sneezed because you didn’t take your allergy medicine this morning, like I_ told _you to.”_

_“Yeah, you told me while wearing nothing but the galaxy boxers I got you, the ones you keep insisting are too dorky to leave the drawer. What was I supposed to do,_ not _take them off and blow you?”_

_Bones rolled his eyes, but his cheeks pinked slightly at the memory. He fished around in his pack and withdrew the roll of duct tape that he’d carried with him on their hike like the boy scout he claimed not to be. He wrapped the strip of fabric firmly around Jim’s injured ankle and then bound it in several layers of duct tape. The result was actually a fairly serviceable brace._

_“How very MacGyver of you,” Jim commented. He went to stand up, only to find himself being held down by the shoulders by his irate boyfriend._

_“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”_

_“I thought that’d be pretty obvious. Didn’t figure you’d feel like hanging around until my ankle heals.”_

_“Yeah well, I don’t feel like watching you limp for the rest of my life either. You’re not putting any weight on that ankle until you get it checked out by a specialist.”_

_Before Jim could ask if he knew of any specialists who made house calls to hiking trails halfway up mountains, Bones had shrugged what was left of his shirt back on and twisted to kneel in the dirt with his back to Jim._

_“Arms around me,” he ordered. Jim just gaped at the back of his head._

_“Bones, you can’t be serious.”_

_Bones craned his neck around to scowl at him._

_“You’re not walking, and I’m not leaving you up here to get eaten by bears or fall victim to your own stupidity again. The way I see it, that leaves us with one option. Cuddle up, Kirk.”_

_Jim wanted to protest, wanted to list the dozens of reasons why this was a bad idea, why Bones should just let him try to walk or leave him and go get help on his own. But one look at the sheer, committed determination in Bones’ eyes told him that it would be useless._

_Slowly, Jim looped his arms around Bones’ neck and wrapped his legs around his waist. With a muffled grunt of effort, Bones stood, wobbling a little under Jim’s weight. Jim held his breath, but Bones made it to his feet and stayed there. He took a step, and then another, and they were on their way._

_Jim just hung on in quiet disbelief for several minutes. No one outside of his family had ever cared enough to do something like this for him, to show him this kind of selfless dedication. It was humbling and incredible and had the rare effect of leaving him speechless. He just tucked his face into Bones’ neck, breathing him in. His ankle throbbed with every step that Bones took, but he was having trouble caring much._

Jim clenched his fists, the memory making his throat ache sharply. Bones had carried him almost two miles that day, until he’d been drenched with sweat and Jim could feel his body trembling with exhaustion. But he’d just kept up a steady stream of grumbling and complaints that they both knew he didn’t mean, filling the silence so that Jim would know he was all right.

The Bones he fell in love with was the best person he’d ever known, underneath the grumpiness. And the kind of person who would carry young idiots down mountains rather than leave them behind was not the kind of person that would end up working for a terrorist. Could there really have been anything in the world capable of turning that Bones into the kind of monster Jim had dedicated his life to stopping?

*****

Unsurprisingly, Jim didn’t do his best work that day. He was distracted, unfocused, barely even seeing the lines of code on the screen in front of him. He could feel Chekov’s gaze on him from time to time, and he did his best to offer his roommate reassuring smiles. He wasn’t sure Chekov bought it, and a couple of times the kid looked like he wanted to say something, but he refrained. Jim wasn’t sure if he was grateful for that or not.

Fortunately, he hadn’t been assigned too many projects that day, and he was eventually able to get through them. Even once he’d finished though, he remained at his station, eyes on the blank screen, fingers hovering over the keys. Nero’s systems were of the highest quality, and as Jim had already seen, he could access just about anything he wanted in the digital world. He could dig up some of the answers that he so desperately wanted about Bones.

But although Jim Kirk was burning with curiosity, Ben Finney had absolutely no reason to be poking around for information on Narada’s doctor. Jim’s every digital move was still being monitored. It was what was stopping him from trying to get a message out to his team, or turning his hacking skills on Nero’s own files. If he was seen looking into Bones, it would raise suspicions that he would be unable to explain away. No, he would have to seek his answers elsewhere.

Elsewhere turned out to be in the mess that evening. Jim sat down for dinner with a couple of Nero’s men, and let their conversation flow around him until an appropriate pause occurred.

“So, that doctor is something else,” he remarked, working a lot harder than he usually had to to sound casual.

Both men snorted.

“Something else is one way to put it,” said Kyle. “I saw him make Hendorff cry once.”

“That’s because Hendorff is a sissy beneath all that muscle,” Thompson scoffed. He shook his head. “Still, McCoy is awfully ballsy for someone in his position. Someday soon it’s gonna bite him in the ass.”

“His position?” Jim asked.

“Ah, you know,” Thompson waved a hand vaguely. “Shall we say, _drafted_ instead of volunteered.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Kyle complained. “I think he knows I’m the one who grabbed him. He’s got it out for me. I went to him for a rash the other month and I’m pretty sure what he gave me for it was some kind of itching cream.”

“And just what _kind_ of rash did you go see him for?”

Jim ignored the outbreak of bickering. A vise had clamped around his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. A pit of dread had opened up in his stomach and horror was beginning to creep through him.

“You mean he was- he was abducted?” he heard himself ask, cutting off an annoyed snap from Kyle.

The two men looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“You’re new to this kind of thing, huh?” Thompson asked.

“I like to think of it as resource acquisition,” Kyle added. “Kidnapping is such a harsh term.”

“What’s torture, then?” Thompson scoffed. “Twenty questions?”

“No, dumbass, torture already has a fancy cover name. It’s called enhanced interrogation.”

Jim was going to throw up. Icy sweat was breaking out over his skin.

“He was tortured?” His voice sounded slightly strangled, even to his own ears.

Thompson and Kyle blinked at him, apparently having forgotten about him again.

“Who, McCoy? Nah, no need. I mean you’re welcome to take a few swings at him if he gives you too much lip, but the boss had him brought in for his skills. Wouldn’t make much sense to mess him up too bad.”

“Is that what other people do?” Jim ground out, his entire body rigid. His knuckles were white where he was gripping the edge of the table, and his injured wrist was screaming from the tension. He didn’t care. “Do they ‘ _take a few swings at him_?’”

Thompson and Kyle were starting to look at him strangely. He knew he was making too big a deal out of this, that Ben Finney wouldn’t care about some random doctor being mistreated. But Jim Kirk was raging inside.

“What are you, some kind of pacifist?” Thompson asked derisively. “So what if he gets knocked around a little?”

Jim was on his feet before the words even fully registered. He was aching to lunge across the table to grab Thompson by the throat and squeeze until he coughed up a complete list of names and offenses, until he told Jim exactly what had been done to Bones. But he stopped himself, sense warring with his anger. Attacking these two men would accomplish nothing and could ruin everything.

Jim had to get out of there, before he compromised himself irreparably.

In a feat of willpower he nearly wasn’t capable of, he turned his back on the two men and strode from the mess, entire body vibrating with pent-up…everything. The conversation with Thompson and Kyle replayed over and over in his head, confronting him with the brutal truth that was so much worse than he’d suspected.

He couldn’t quite believe just how badly he’d misread the situation. He’d thought that Bones had betrayed him, but it was the other way around. It was Jim who had betrayed Bones, abandoned him and left him vulnerable. Not only had he left him unprotected, he’d failed to apprehend Nero in the _eight fucking years_ he’d been looking for him. Jim had screwed up, and Bones was the one paying the price.

Thoughts of just what that price might entail stormed through his brain, each more sickening than the last. Bones had been abducted, that much he knew, had been knocked around by these shitbags that worked for Nero. What else had been done to him? What else had Jim sentenced him to with his own failures?

Jim found himself outside of Bones’ rooms without consciously deciding to go there, or even registering the fact that he was moving at all. He stopped short, staring blankly at the closed door. He ached to reach for the knob, to push his way inside and find Bones and gather him into his arms where he could keep him safe, like he should have done before. He wanted to grab Bones and run, to get him away from this evil in which he had no place. He wanted to apologize a hundred times over, to explain himself, to do whatever it took to reverse the bitter fury that had filled Bones’ gaze the last time it had been fixed on him.

But he didn’t move. He had no reason to go through that door, not one that Finney could justify, anyway. He wasn’t even supposed to be on this floor at all. Finnegan had already spotted him here once; if he saw him again he might start to get suspicious. It didn’t sound like many people made repeat visits to Bones unless they absolutely had to. And the fact that Jim had nearly blown his cover twice already today meant that he shouldn’t be taking more chances than were absolutely necessary. His head had already been knocked well out of the game, and that could spell doom for even the most experienced operative. And prisoner or no, Bones still had the power to ruin Jim’s mission. He’d kept silent earlier, but if Jim kept pushing him he might snap.

And maybe, just maybe, Jim was afraid of the way Bones would look at him if he saw him again. With rage and hate flashing in his eyes where there once had been love and affection. This morning had been bad enough, even softened by the utter shock shutting down his mental capacities. To experience it now, knowing that it was more deserved than he could have realized…he wasn’t sure he could face that.

He would have to, eventually. He owed Bones that, and more. But not yet, not while he was still in shock, not while his blood was still boiling and his mind was in useless chaos.

So he turned on his heel and all but ran away from Bones’ door, back down to the operations levels and the job he still knew how to do. He skipped the evening card games and workouts that he’d been using to further embed himself, knowing that he was only a risk to himself just then. He returned to his room instead, where he could finally think and begin to process properly without being in danger of blowing the entire operation.

An hour later he was sitting cross-legged on his bed, staring blankly down at his hands, when Chekov came in. He was too absorbed in his thoughts to pay the kid much attention, and Chekov noticed.

“Are you all right, Ben?” he asked. “Is it your wrist?”

Jim tugged his sleeve further over his makeshift brace. He looked up at his roommate, watching as he got ready for bed.

Did Chekov know about what happened to Bones? Did he know that the doctor he so respected had been abducted, held prisoner by people who felt licensed to beat him? Had he _been_ one of those people; had he ‘ _taken a few swings_?’ Jim’s stomach roiled at the thought.

“Ben?”

Jim stared at Chekov, who was now eyeing him in genuine concern. The kid had changed into his solar system pajamas, complete with their smiley little cartoon planets. His face was open, honest, ridiculously so for someone in his position. And Jim couldn’t find it in himself to believe that he’d laid a hand on Bones.

“I’m fine, Pavel. Go to sleep.”

He felt Chekov’s eyes on him for another moment, but then the kid just flicked off the lights and settled onto his bed. After a few minutes, the soft sound of his whuffling snores began to drift through the room.

Jim knew that sleep wouldn’t come to him so readily. He didn’t even bother closing his eyes.

The minutes ticked slowly by in the darkened room. Jim went over and over the list of reasons why making contact with Bones again would be a bad idea, an unnecessary risk, a potential catastrophe. And over and over his traitorous brain responded with the memory of Thompson’s careless words, of Bones’ haunted features.

_Fuck it._

Jim slid quietly out of his bed and pulled on his shoes.

Despite the hour, many of the lights in the compound remained undimmed. Jim made his way back to Bones’ room, taking care this time not to be spotted. He knocked on the door, realizing as he did so that Bones might not even be there anymore, what with how late it was. He let himself into the outer room, finding it empty, lights off. He crossed the room and knocked on the inner door, holding his breath.

After a moment, the door swung open, and Jim’s chest tightened. There was Bones, beautiful and real, close enough to touch. When he spotted Jim, his expression flickered, flashing through surprise and something that looked oddly like relief before settling firmly on anger and suspicion.

“You’ve got some nerve-” he growled.

But Jim held up a hand pleadingly. He felt cold all over, left breathless by the look that he’d seen on Bones’ face for just an instant before the surprised recognition had hit. Bones had been terrified of who might be on the other side of the door.

“I’m an idiot,” he said with quiet urgency, forestalling any further rant on Bones’ part. “I’m such an idiot, but seeing you here, it just…” He shook his head. “I should’ve known you weren’t here because you want to be. I’m not either, not the way you think. Please, Bones. Let me…”

Let him what? _Explain_? Could he even do that? Would it make a difference if he did?

He expected Bones to scoff at him, to suggest he take a one-way trip to a pretty hot place, but he didn’t. Instead, something in his angry mask cracked, exposing breathtaking pain beneath it. It was only visible for a moment though, because Bones squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away.

“Don’t call me that,” he said, his voice low and rough. “You lost that right a long time ago, you bastard.”

Jim opened his mouth, but once again words failed him. What was he supposed to say to that? True, he wasn’t working for Nero, but he was still guilty of a lot of things, especially where Bones was concerned.

“I’m sorry,” he managed eventually. “I’m so sorry. I know I can’t- I never meant-”

He broke off, frustrated with himself. He was supposed to be some suave, put-together agent, the pride of the CIA, capable of talking his way out of any problem, charming his way through the trickiest of missions. And now he couldn’t even put together a sentence.

“You have every reason to be furious with me,” he tried again. “But I’m asking you to put that aside, because I am not the enemy here. I want to help you.”

Bones opened his eyes and unclenched his jaw, but he still didn’t look at Jim.

“You can’t help me,” he whispered, and some of the anger in his tone had been replaced by defeat.

“The hell I can’t.”

Jim stepped forward, stopping when Bones tensed. He took a breath. Too many loved ones, he’d been unable to help. He’d be damned if he let Bones be another one. But first he had to regain some semblance of trust.

“Listen to me,” he pleaded. He held his hands out at his sides and took a slow step forward. “Please. Just listen.”

Bones still refused to look at him, but he didn’t try to move away. Jim took that as permission to close the last of the distance between them. He leaned in close, until his lips were at Bones’ ear. This close, he could feel the heat radiating from Bones, breathe in the familiar smell of him. And he could feel the tension humming through his body, a direct result of Jim’s proximity. He was _afraid_ of Jim.

The pain of that left Jim frozen for a moment, breathless. It was worse than any verbal accusation that Bones could hurl at him.

He wished that he could back up, give Bones space, but he had to be careful. While it was unlikely that Nero would bug his own doctor’s office, it would only take one slip-up to cost them both their lives. Jim had already said more than he should have, and he couldn’t afford to say what he had to in anything but the softest of whispers. And even so, he was seized by a moment of hesitation.

_Do not reveal your affiliation with the Agency._ It was one of the cardinal rules of the CIA, drilled into its employees from the moment they started training. Only spouses could be told, and that was after being thoroughly vetted. This was a special circumstance, true, but Jim knew that any supervisor would still forbid him from telling Bones before he could even finish asking for permission. It was, quite simply, a massive risk. Eight years was a long time. Jim certainly wasn’t the same person he’d been when he left Bones behind all those years ago, and there was no telling what that time had done to Bones.

“Well?” Bones snapped. The forced irritation in his voice wasn’t quite enough to hide what else was in it.

Jim dismissed his concerns. He _knew_ Bones. And while he might have changed, might hate Jim, he would never do anything to put him in danger. It just wasn’t in him.

“I’m with the CIA,” Jim breathed into Bones’ ear, too quietly for any bug to pick up.

Bones jerked in surprise, pulling back to stare at Jim. Jim just held his gaze steadily, letting him see his absolute sincerity. He watched the play of emotions flashing across Bones’ face; surprise, disbelief, suspicion, more surprise, anger, realization, more anger, _hope_. The fear was mercifully gone. He swallowed hard and grabbed Jim by the arm. He pulled him through the inner door to a bedroom, and then through another door to a small bathroom. Before Jim could ask what they were doing there, Bones had tugged the door shut and gone to turn on the shower. The water pounded against the tiled walls and porcelain tub in a sound that Jim knew from experience would wreak hell on the feed from any listening devices in the area. He smiled at Bones.

“Good thinking,” he said softly.

Bones had no patience for compliments.

“Explain,” he demanded, his voice just as quiet as Jim’s but considerably more forceful.

Jim sighed. He sat down on the edge of the bathtub, feeling the tap of water against the shower curtain at his back. Bones scowled but sat on the closed lid of the toilet and leaned in until his knees were brushing Jim’s and their heads were inches apart. Something inside Jim lifted with the proximity, but he forced himself to focus.

“I’m an agent,” he murmured. “I’m here undercover. We’ve been trying to bring down Nero and his entire network for years, but he’s careful. None of our agencies even know what he _looks_ like yet, and he’s been operating for at least thirty years. He knows how to keep himself out of the dirt while he delegates risks to his underlings. He’s been all but untouchable. But we finally lucked out, and managed to intercept a new hire of Nero’s before anyone in Narada knew what he looked like.”

“Ben Finney.”

Jim nodded, impressed with how quickly Bones had made the leap.

“I’m working now on gaining trust, trying to embed myself. Eventually I’ll be able to get to Nero himself and uncover the extent of the operation, find everyone he’s ever helped. Once the government has that information, we’ll be able to stop a lot of attacks before they can happen.”

Bones was silent for a long moment. Jim watched him, relearning the lines of his face, seeking out the flecks of green and gold in his eyes.

“And when you’ve found Nero’s associates, you plan on doing what, exactly?” Bones asked.

“Taking it all down,” Jim told him with grim satisfaction. “However that plays out.”

Jim had no taste for killing, often lost many nights of sleep when he had to do it for the job. But he couldn’t deny to himself that Nero’s was one life he truly wanted to take. Personally.

Apparently Bones felt differently. His eyes went wide with panic, and he grabbed Jim by the shoulders, gripping tight.

“You can’t kill him,” he hissed urgently.

“Why not? He’s a murdering terrorist scumbag.”

“Exactly! Don’t you think I would’ve loaded him up with potassium chloride at the first chance I got if I thought I could?”

His obvious fear tugged at Jim’s chest, and he reached up to cover Bones’ hands with his own.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised.

“It’s not me I’m worried about!” Bones insisted, shaking him off. “Why do you think I’ve been here so long? You know I’m not stupid or weak – at least, I thought you did.”

That stung a little. Clearly, Jim needed more information.

“What happened, B-” he caught himself, folded his arms across his stomach. “How did you end up involved in all of this? I know it wasn’t voluntary,” he hurried to add when Bones’ expression darkened again. “But I need you to walk me through this.”

Bones looked down, studying the floor between them. He blew out a heavy breath.

“I stayed in Boston, after I finished my residency,” he began. “Got a permanent position at Mass General in their neurology department. It’s where I met a woman named Jocelyn Darnell, one of the hospital’s lawyers. She and I got married six years ago.”

Jim had no right, no right at all to feel a fierce surge of jealousy at the words. He had no right to feel like he’d been punched in the solar plexus and kicked in the balls at the same time. And he sure as hell had no right to feel crushing disappointment.

“It didn’t stick,” Bones went on, either oblivious to Jim’s reaction or choosing to ignore it. “We went through a nasty divorce two years ago, and I lost just about everything but my medical license and the clothes on my back.”

The echo of bitter pain in his eyes made Jim feel like even more of an asshole for his initial reaction. It was compounded by a fresh surge of guilt that hit him when part of him was _glad_.

“But I did manage to get partial custody of my little girl.”

That one took a moment to land. Jim couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped him. Of course - the picture on Bones’ desk, the little girl with a heart-melting smile and eyes that Jim should have recognized anywhere. How had he not put that together?

“You’re a father,” he whispered, staring at Bones.

Bones finally looked up at Jim again, and despite the worry and exhaustion and anger that lined his face, something in his eyes lightened, and the trace of a smile touched his lips.

“I’m a father,” he agreed, a warmth in his voice that Jim hadn’t heard in so long. “And she’s beautiful, Jim. She’s…god, she’s everything. My little Joanna.”

The love in his eyes was as evident as it had once been when he looked at Jim. It softened his face, made him even more breathtaking. It made Jim ache more fiercely than ever for what he’d lost, but he was glad to know that Bones had gotten such joy. He’d always wanted to be a parent.

“After your grandmother?” Jim guessed, filling the silence before it could give him away. Bones’ gaze had grown distant as he thought about his daughter, but he refocused on Jim in surprise.

“You remember.”

“Trust me, your Grandma Jo was pretty unforgettable,” Jim said with a small smile, electing to ignore the sharp little bolt of guilt and shame that Bones’ surprise had sent through him. God, he really thought Jim didn’t care about him, didn’t he?

“She was that,” said Bones. “Died the year before my Joanna was born.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Bones cleared his throat. “Anyway, after the divorce I didn’t have much to focus on but work, aside from Wednesdays and every other weekend. And I was damned good at what I did. Built up a nice little reputation for myself as one of the best neurologists in the country.” He sighed, his expression twisting into something wry and bitter. “It was everything I’d wanted for myself. I guess I just didn’t realize how much it would suck to be by myself when I got it.”

Jim opened his mouth, but Bones didn’t give him the chance to figure out what to say.

“I wound up being so good that I got referred to patients all the time. I was proud of that. It meant that I was doing my job right, and that I could reach more people. But then, about six months ago, a patient was referred to me by one of the ER doctors. He’d been in Boston on some kind of business trip when he collapsed, experienced temporary partial paralysis. It didn’t take me long to diagnose him with multiple sclerosis. I told him he’d need lifelong monitoring and treatment, and he said fine. Next night I walked into my apartment and got a chloroformed rag up my nose. I woke up in that bed out there.”

Bones jerked a thumb at the door that led out to the bedroom. Jim realized that his hands were clenched into fists, and he forced himself to take a breath and relax them. He hoped he didn’t see Kyle anytime soon, because resisting the urge to deck him was going to be damn near impossible.

“Nero was waiting for me in that neat little sickroom, with a couple of his thugs, of course,” Bones went on. “Told me how very sorry he was about the rough treatment, but would I be interested in a very lucrative job opportunity?”

“And once you told him exactly where he could stick his job opportunity?” Jim asked.

Bones huffed, his lips twitching into the hint of a rueful smile. He shook his head at Jim.

“That predictable, huh?”

“You never did have much patience for bullies or bullshit.”

“I guess not.” The almost-smile vanished. “And Nero didn’t have much patience for me. He just pulled out his phone and showed me a live feed. It was of Joanna’s kindergarten classroom, taken through the window. He had someone _watching_ her, Jim. And he told me…he told me…”

“He threatened to have her killed,” Jim surmised grimly. It shouldn’t have surprised him, and it didn’t really, but it made him hate Nero just that much more.

Bones nodded. He pulled in a slightly unsteady breath and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. Suddenly, every single one of the eight years that they had spent apart showed on his face.

“If I didn’t treat him, or if he thought I was pulling anything,” he explained. “He had me call Jocelyn, convince her that I was going on a service trip to a third world country and would be out of contact indefinitely. I wanted so bad to warn her, to tell her to grab Jo and run, but I knew she’d never get there fast enough. Nero had me tell the same story to my coworkers, made me quit my job so no one would be looking for me. And he told me that he’d left orders for his men, that if I let him die, they were supposed to take her out.”

He flinched as he said it. His misery was palpable, and Jim couldn’t bear it. He settled a hand on Bones’ knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. It didn’t seem to help. In fact, Bones’ distress only seemed to worsen. He dropped his hands from his face to stare at Jim in fresh horror.

“And _you_! Christ, if he finds out about you-”

“Hey, that won’t happen,” Jim interrupted. He gripped Bones by the shoulders. “Listen to me. I know I haven’t given you much reason to think very highly of me, but I promise you, I _promise you_ , that I am very good at my job. And believe me when I say that I’m taking this job more seriously than any other I’ve ever been on. I won’t let anything happen to your daughter, and I sure as hell won’t let anything happen to you. You hear me? I’ll get you both out of this.”

Bones gave Jim a skeptical, helpless look, but he didn’t pull away.

“How?”

Now, that was the question, wasn’t it? This mission had already been shaping up to be one of the most difficult of Jim’s career. And now, with this king-sized monkey wrench thrown into it? He had no idea how he was going to pull all this off. But he had to.

“Listen, I’m the only one undercover here, but I’ve got a whole support team waiting for me in Rome. I can only get in contact with them once I get my first day off, which probably won’t be for another few weeks. I’ve got to prove myself before they let me out of their sight. But when that happens, and it will, I’ll report in to my team, and I’ll have someone pick up Joanna and your ex-wife so they’ll be safe. And then I’ll do whatever it takes to get you out of here.”

Bones stared at him for a long moment. There had been a time when Jim could read his every expression like a picture book, but this one he couldn’t parse.

“You’re really serious about that, aren’t you?” Bones murmured eventually. “What about your mission?”

“Hey, you’re looking at a super agent,” Jim said, pasting on a confident grin. “I can help you and your family, _and_ nail the bad guys.”

Bones didn’t smile, but some of the panic had faded from his expression. He stared hard at Jim.

“You’re really in the CIA?” he asked.

Jim sobered and nodded. He shifted uncomfortably, knowing that Bones was asking for more than that and not quite sure what to tell him. But he knew he owed him the truth.

He opened his mouth, hoping that the right words would come to him if he actually started speaking. It was a strategy that he relied on all too often, and one that was unfortunately not always particularly effective.

“Hey McCoy, towel off and look sharp; the boss wants you in his suite in ten minutes!”

The Irish-accented shout made Jim jump violently. He flailed, tumbling backwards into the shower and getting a facefull of water. He froze, listening.

“Oi, you alive in there?” Finnegan’s voice called.

“I’ll be right out!” Bones yelled back.

He switched off the shower and tugged back the curtain. He frowned down at Jim, who was soaking wet and sprawled in about two inches of water that had yet to drain.

“Super agent, huh?” he hissed.

But Jim couldn’t focus on the bait. It was after midnight.

“What does Nero want you for?” he demanded in a whisper.

“I told you, he’s got MS.”

Jim couldn’t help noticing that that wasn’t an answer. And he may not have been the doctor among them, but he didn’t think that MS was the kind of condition that required emergency attention at odd hours.

Before he could press for a better answer, Bones was turning to head for the door. Jim reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“You were in the shower, remember?” he said, tugging him back down.

He scooped up some of the water from the tub and used it to wet Bones’ head and neck. Bones tensed but didn’t pull away, obviously appreciating the wisdom of it. He even undid a few of the buttons on his shirt, presumably to make it look like he hadn’t had time to put it on properly. It was a savvy move, one that Jim might have thought to suggest himself. It also distracted him so much that he probably wouldn’t have noticed if Finnegan burst into the bathroom naked.

Good lord, how was he supposed to get through this mission? Distractions could be disastrous on jobs like this, and Bones was the biggest distraction that the universe could have thrown at him.

Oblivious to the effect he was having on Jim, Bones stood up again and went to the door. He turned and looked back for just a moment. In that look, Jim saw about a hundred different things, not one of which he could make sense of. And then Bones slipped through the door and was gone, leaving Jim sitting alone with his thoughts in a slowly draining bathtub.


	4. Chapter 4

Jim didn’t even bother going back to his room once he’d dried himself off and snuck out of Bones’ suite. He knew there would be no sleep for him that night. He couldn’t settle, couldn’t find the steady calm that he usually relied on while undercover. The memory of his conversation with Bones was replaying over and over in his head, and restless energy was humming through him. It made his skin itch and his stomach churn and he ended up in one of the training rooms without much conscious thought.

He began to lay into one of the punching bags hanging from the ceiling. The first hit snapped something inside him, and he slammed his fists into the bag’s unforgiving surface over and over, landed wild kicks that sent it swinging. The memory of Bones’ fear, his desperation, his _defeat_ lent strength to the blows, gave them a savage ferocity that lacked any of the technique that had been drilled into him during his training. His injured wrist protested sharply, and the unprotected skin of his knuckles was soon raw and torn, but the pain only spurred him on, unleashed more of the impotent fury that had been brewing inside him since his conversation with Thompson and Kyle. He may have cried out, shouted out his rage, but the sound was lost to the storm inside him.

It just wasn’t fair, that in trying so hard to protect Bones he’d let him get hurt so terribly. It wasn’t fair that such an innocent, _good_ man had been pulled into this kind of hell simply for being an exemplary doctor. It wasn’t fair that the one good thing he had left, his _child_ , was being used against him in the worst possible way. It wasn’t fair that Jim was still all but powerless to help him. It wasn’t fair that Nero got to live contentedly in this kingdom that he’d built for himself, while making so many others suffer.

And it wasn’t fair that Jim had torn his life apart to stop him, only to fail so spectacularly. It wasn’t fair that despite doing everything he thought was right, his chance to rid the world of the evil he’d been pursuing for the last eight years was being jeopardized. It wasn’t fair that the one weakness he had left, the one he’d tried so hard to leave behind, haunted him still.

*****

Jim could feel Chekov’s concerned gaze on him the next morning, but he did his best to ignore it. He knew he must look like shit. He’d spent nearly two hours in the training room, unleashing his anger and frustration and hurt and guilt on the hapless punching bag until his screaming muscles finally threatened to give out. He was in damn good shape, but he’d lost control last night, pushing his body well past its limits. And even then he hadn’t been able to sleep. He ached all over, and his sprained wrist sent jagged pulses of pain shooting up his arm with each beat of his heart. It had been stupid. But that was what Bones did to him, wasn’t it?

Still, he sucked it up and accompanied Chekov to the computer room for another day’s work. Today’s agenda involved hacking into the communications network of the second largest trading company in the world, which happened to have some of the most advanced cyber security that Jim had ever seen. The challenge helped to focus him, but it was still difficult to keep his mind on the work.

His thoughts kept circling back to Bones. He wanted to go check on him, to make sure that he’d made it back safely from whatever business he’d had with Nero. He wanted to go back to that little bathroom and talk until the last eight years didn’t feel like an insurmountable barrier. He wanted to look Bones in the eye and promise him that things were going to be all right.

But he couldn’t do any of those things. Not without risking his cover and Bones’ safety. Not without telling Bones one more lie.

After an hour or so, he realized he’d been running his tongue absently over the switch on his molar, the one that would activate his emergency beacon. His fingers froze on the keyboard, his eyes fixed unseeing on the screen.

What was he doing? One signal from him, and his team would sweep in, an unstoppable force. They could get Bones out of here, get him to safety. They could do it fast enough that Nero wouldn’t have time to figure out what was happening, he would have no reason to carry out his threat against Joanna McCoy. Jim should have thought of it earlier.

Except…

He hadn’t thought about it earlier because he hadn’t _let_ himself think about it earlier. Because he couldn’t do it.

Calling his team would mean giving up on the mission. It would mean catching Nero, yes, but it would also mean letting the rest of his network go unidentified. It would mean sacrificing the chance to stop multiple terrorists before they hurt untold numbers of people. And that wasn’t an option. Not unless there was no other choice.

Jim squeezed his eyes shut, bowing his head as his throat burned and his heart turned to lead in his chest. It felt like one more betrayal, one more way he was letting Bones down. To have the power to save him, and to keep it to himself…it was impossible. But that was the situation they were in. An impossible one.

Bones would make the same call. He would never let so many others be endangered for his sake. And if Jim did it for him, he’d hate him that much more. Jim knew that.

But he also knew that if something more happened to Bones, he would never forgive himself.

*****

Midway through the morning, the door to the computer room clicked open, and Jim glanced up automatically to see who had entered. His hands dropped from his keyboard, surprise and relief flooding through him as he saw Bones standing in the doorway, looking as tired as Jim felt but otherwise perfectly fine. One of the knots of fear in his chest loosened just a little. There were still plenty of them left to tear at him, but Jim would take what he could get.

“Dr. McCoy!” Chekov greeted with cheerful surprise.

Bones gave the kid a quick nod, before striding to Jim’s desk. Jim did his best to get his heartbeat under control. He glanced around pointedly in what he hoped was a clear indication that this wasn’t a safe place to talk. Bones gave him a slight scowl in a look that said he was insulted that Jim thought he’d be that stupid. Jim grinned at him apologetically. Bones’ expression softened a little.

They seemed to realize at the same time that they were leaning well into each other’s personal space and having a completely silent conversation. Bones’ expression shuttered and he leaned back, clearing his throat. He pulled something out of his pocket and held it out to Jim.

“Here,” he said. “Finally found one in your size.”

Jim took it, and realized that it was a brace for his wrist.

His throat closed up. The gesture shouldn’t have touched him as much as it did, but it wasn’t just about a wrist brace. It was about the olive branch that it represented, the fact that Bones had apparently forgiven him enough to start caring for him again.

 _Or maybe it’s not about forgiveness, idiot_ , an unkind part of his brain thought. _He knows he needs you in top shape_.

But that wasn’t doing Bones justice. He wasn’t the type to use people like that. But he _was_ the type to take care of anyone who needed his help, whether he forgave them or not.

“Thank you,” Jim said, and he hoped that his face said more than his words did. Judging by the way Bones’ expression changed, flickering with something unreadable but deep before smoothing back into a casual mask, it did.

He waved off Jim’s thanks and turned for the door. It took considerable effort for Jim to remain in his seat instead of following. Even so, he watched the door for several long moments after it had closed behind Bones.

Then he shook himself and grabbed a pair of scissors to slice off his makeshift duct tape brace.

“He tried to fix your wrist with _duct tape_?” Chekov demanded, looking scandalized. Jim grinned at him.

“You know what they say, Pavel. If you can’t fix it with duct tape, you aren’t using enough.”

“Yes, I have heard that. It really is quite remarkable stuff. Invented in Russia, of course, by…”

Jim tuned out the rest of what was sure to be an entertaining ode to Mother Russia. He was too busy staring down at the brace in his hands, which had a scrap of paper pinned to the inside. Jim hid it under his desk and squinted at the handwriting that shouldn’t have been so familiar after all this time.

_Industrial refrigerator, just outside of service entrance. Tonight at 9._

*****

Jim finished his work as early as he could without looking suspicious, and spent the rest of the day scrounging around the basement, looking for various supplies. It didn’t take him long to find what he needed. It took even less time for him to turn it into what he wanted.

He’d never finished his masters in computer science and engineering, but he’d learned enough. Actually, he probably could’ve made a rudimentary bug sweeper from random bits of electronics when he was still in middle school. It wasn’t pretty, but it would get the job done.

He got to the refrigerator at 8:30 and spent ten minutes searching it top to bottom for bugs. Since very few people cared what milk and produce discussed in their free time, he was unsurprised to find none. Still, it was good to know for certain that their conversation would be private.

Jim shoved his hands in his pockets and spent the next fifteen minutes trying not to pace. He was only marginally successful. He was also cold.

At 8:55, the door creaked open.

“I can’t believe you wanted to meet in a refrigerator,” Jim said. “You always spent ten months out of the year complaining about the cold in Boston.”

Bones scowled at him as he pulled the door closed in his wake. Fortunately it wasn’t the kind that locked automatically.

“It was the first place I could think of that seemed safe,” he said. “How the hell am I supposed to know how all this covert stuff works?”

Jim felt his lips twitch.

“Well, while I applaud your initiative, I can tell you that refrigerators are rarely involved in the process. I made a bug sweeper, I can check your room next time I’m there. If it’s clean, it’ll be just as safe as here.”

They both seemed to register the implication that there would be a return visit to Bones’ rooms. Bones’s frown deepened, and Jim floundered immediately for a subject change. He held up his injured hand.

“Thanks for the brace,” he said. “It’s helping a lot.”

Bones’ frown shifted into a much more familiar and beloved expression.

“Well it can’t be helping that much, if you’re wearing it like that,” he said, exasperated.

He strode forward and snatched Jim’s arm, tugging it close. Jim held completely still, reveling in the thoughtless contact and scared of doing something to disturb it. He watched Bones remove the sloppily-fastened brace with deft fingers and rewrap it snugly. Bones studied the injury for a moment longer before he seemed satisfied. And then he stiffened.

He dropped Jim’s hand and took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. Disappointment stabbed at Jim, but he kept it to himself.

“Thank you,” he said.

Bones just nodded tightly. They watched each other for a moment.

“You were about to explain why you lied to me for three years and then tossed me aside like an old newspaper when you were done with me?” Bones prompted when Jim didn’t say anything.

The words hit Jim like a kick to the gut. His mouth fell open, but it was several long seconds before he could make a sound.

“What?” Did Bones really think-? “No! Bo- listen, it’s not like that.”

He reached out automatically for Bones before thinking better of it and letting his arms drop back to his sides.

“God, I wasn’t _lying_ to you. I wasn’t in-” Jim broke off instinctively, glancing around. He’d checked for bugs as well as he could, but he couldn’t be too careful. He lowered his voice. “I wasn’t in _this line of work_ while we were together. I swear.”

Bones studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“Okay. So you started _after_ you dumped me via email and told me that you never wanted to see me again.”

Jim flinched.

“I think I’d better start at the beginning,” he said.

“Good idea.” Bones’ voice was as chilly as the air around them.

Jim bit his lip, collecting his thoughts. Bracing himself.

“I don’t know if you remember, but the night of my mom’s funeral, after we came down from that treehouse, there was a man waiting for us in the kitchen with Sam.”

“I remember.” Bones’ flat tone gave nothing away. “Christopher Pike. You walked him out.”

“Yeah. And when I did, he told me that he’d worked with my mom, and that he could tell me more about what she’d done, and what had happened to her.”

“Your mom died of a brain aneurism.”

“That’s what the official report said.”

Bones was silent for a moment, processing the implications of that.

“So what did he tell you?”

“Not much, that night. He gave me an address and a time to meet the next morning, so I went there after I dropped you off at the train station. I don’t know what I was expecting, but a tour of my mom’s office wasn’t it. Especially not that office.”

Bones’ eyes widened in understanding.

“She worked…where you do?” he asked carefully.

Jim nodded.

“It’s where she met my dad.”

“Your _dad_?”

“Yeah.” Jim set his jaw and glanced away for a moment, remembering the shock of that little revelation. “Apparently they were both pretty active. We’re still not quite sure how my dad managed to end up on Nero’s radar. From everything we’ve been able to figure out, Nero wasn’t even in business back then, and he couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. But for some reason, he set his sights on my dad.

“I’ve told you how he died. He was driving Mom to the hospital while she was in labor with me, and a tire blew out, made him swerve off the road and hit a tree.”

Bones nodded. He’d been with Jim for three of the shitshows that were his birthdays. He knew the story.

“Turns out, the tire didn’t blow on its own. It was shot out. By Nero.”

That settled in the air between them for a beat.

“Nero murdered your father?”

Jim nodded.

“The Agency knew. My _mom_ knew. But she’d just been in a car accident and given birth, and she was in no condition to go tearing after Nero right away. She didn’t even know who he was at that point. By the time she’d recovered enough, Pike had managed to talk her down a little. They were friends as well as colleagues, and he didn’t want her getting herself hurt. But he still couldn’t stop her from trying to find my dad’s killer. That was part of why Mom was gone so much when I was little; she was hunting for him.”

And boy, hadn’t Jim understood her that much better when he’d learned that?

“But I think once she realized that things were getting bad at home, she rethought her priorities. She decided to focus on the family she had left, rather than getting consumed by trying to avenge who she’d already lost. After she kicked Frank to the curb, she retired from fieldwork and took a desk job so that she could be with us. But once Sam and I moved out, she got sucked back in. She started looking into the Nero case again. And she must have started to get too close, because he had her poisoned.”

He heard Bones inhale sharply. He looked up.

“Nero murdered my parents.” It wasn’t often that Jim could say the words aloud, and they twisted something inside him. It was an old, familiar wound, but that didn't diminish the breathtaking pain of it.

Shock and sympathy and anger flashed across Bones’ expression. Grief, too. He’d known Winona Kirk, and they’d been starting to grow close. It couldn’t be easy for him to hear that she’d been murdered.

“I’m sorry,” he said eventually. “Truly.”

Jim had to look away.

“When Pike told me all of this, I…I don’t even know how to describe what it felt like. But when he offered me the chance to join, to help get justice for them…it didn’t even feel like a choice. It was something I had to do. I wouldn’t have been able to stand not acting.”

“I guess I can understand that,” Bones said after several seconds of heavy silence. “And I would’ve understood it eight years ago, if you’d told me.”

Jim grimaced at the floor. He’d gotten so caught up in telling the story that he’d nearly forgotten about the minefield waiting for him at its conclusion.

“When I said yes to Pike, it didn’t even occur to me what it might mean for us,” he admitted. “I guess I just assumed that you’d always be there, you know, like it was just a given. But then Pike started explaining what kind of life I was signing up for, and he told me…well, he made it pretty clear that it was you or the Agency.”

Jim winced. That hadn’t come out the way he’d intended at all. He glanced at Bones to see that the damage had already been done. Bones’ expression was hard and closed again, and he took a step back from Jim.

“Well, I guess we both know how that choice went,” he said. “And instead of having the balls to tell me yourself, you ended a _two year_ relationship by _email_ the day after your mother’s funeral and then dropped off the face of the goddamn earth.”

“I thought it would be easier-”

“ _Easier_?” Bones scoffed. “Easier for whom? Because believe me, pal, it was not _easy_ when I was reading and rereading that damned email looking for the punchline and never finding it. It wasn’t _easy_ when I was going out of my mind with worry, sure that you were shutting me out because your grief was making you do something stupid and self-destructive. It wasn’t _easy_ when I was leaving you messages until I was blue in the face and your voicemail was full, when I couldn’t stop even after I finally realized you were never going to call me back. It wasn’t _easy_ feeling my heart stop every time I got a call from an unfamiliar number because I was fucking terrified it was going to be someone telling me you’d been found dead in a ditch somewhere. It wasn’t _easy_ when my wife left me because she finally realized she couldn’t fix what you broke. So I really hope it was easier for you, Jim, because it sure as shit wasn’t easier for me.”

Bones might as well have kicked Jim in the balls. It would’ve hurt less.

“I-I didn’t think-” he whispered. “I didn’t know…”

Bones shook his head, his eyes never leaving Jim’s face. He chuckled, and it was a bitter, humorless thing.

“You really didn’t, did you?” he asked. “You honestly didn’t think it would be that bad.”

He took a step closer, until his face was scant inches from Jim’s.

“Do you realize how much I loved you?” he asked, the words the barest whisper in the air between them. “Do you even remotely understand the hell you put me through?”

Jim couldn’t breathe.

“Bones-”

Bones flinched and stepped away, expression shutting down again.

“I told you not to call me that.” He turned to the door.

“Wait-”

“Look, what’s done is done,” Bones interrupted, still not looking at him. “And I’m glad I know everything now. Maybe it’ll finally make things _easier_. But don’t expect this to change much. You made your choice. It’s done.”

He took a few steps toward the door, and then paused again. He fished something out of his pocket and threw it at Jim, who caught it on instinct. And then he left, the door slamming shut behind him with a horribly final-sounding thud. Jim felt cold all over, and it had nothing to do with being in a refrigerator.

He looked down at his hand to see that he was holding a bottle of aspirin, for his stupid goddamn wrist.

*****

This was a good thing, Jim tried to tell himself. It was good that Bones hated him, wanted nothing to do with him. The less time they spent with each other, the less chance there would be that anyone would get suspicious. Even if he and Bones had been on good terms, Jim would’ve had to avoid seeing him much anyway. And this way, Jim was less likely to get hopelessly distracted and make a slip-up that could get them both killed.

That was what Jim told himself, anyway. But it didn’t make the memory of Bones’ anger and pain hurt any less, didn’t make it any easier for Jim to stay in the basement instead of going to the upper levels to check on him. It didn’t do anything to ease the tight knot of guilt that sat heavy in his gut.

God, but he’d made a mess of this. He’d been trying to protect Bones from exposure to this kind of evil, and to get justice for his parents. He’d failed his first goal, and it was looking more and more likely that the second would crash and burn too.

Because he knew damn well that it was already too late to avoid distractions. He had undergone a pretty damn significant paradigm shift the moment Bones opened that door in his sickroom, and there was no coming back from it. Had all of this been for nothing?

Jim spent another sleepless night lying awake in his bed, his eyes burning with exhaustion but his mind once again utterly unable to settle. He didn’t even blink when Chekov’s alarm went off, inflicting Russian pop music on them both. He just sat up with a groan, grinding his palms into his eyes.

“You are not looking so good, Ben,” Chekov commented, sleep still in his voice.

Yeah well, he wasn’t feeling so good either. And the last thing he needed was to worry about putting up a front for the kid he was going to have to arrest someday anyway.

“What are you, my nanny?” he snapped. “Back off.”

He looked up in time to see Chekov flinch and drop his gaze. The kid wasn’t looking too great himself, with shadows around his eyes and an unnatural paleness in his skin. Jim instantly regretted the outburst.

“I’m sorry, Pavel,” he said, more gently. “I appreciate your concern. I’m just tired.”

It shouldn’t have meant so much to him to see Chekov’s smile return.

Well, Bones may hate his guts, but at least Jim had one friend in this hellhole. And if that friend was a teenaged criminal genius that was going to end up either in prison or dead in the near future, well, that was just how Jim’s life went, wasn’t it?

*****

The next couple of days felt bizarrely routine. Jim got up, spent the day at his desk across from Chekov, hacking and compiling reports for his supervisor, tried and failed not to think about Bones, tried and succeeded to give Bones the space he so clearly wanted, went to bed and tried to sleep through the night with varying degrees of success. He stayed alert for even the slightest mention of Bones among the other men. No one seemed inclined to visit him, and when someone did bring him up, it was as a punchline, a taunt to get one of the newer recruits up off the training mat after taking a rough fall.

But then one of the mercenaries, a hard-eyed, muscular man named Boma, sliced open his hand when his glass broke during a card game. Anyone looking at it could tell it needed stitches.

“Good luck, buddy,” said Riley, clapping the bleeding man on the back with cheerfully false sympathy.

“Let him try anything,” said Boma. “Just let him fucking try.”

There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Jim’s stomach clenched as he watched him stomp off. _You’re welcome to take a few swings at him_ , echoed through his head for the thousandth time.

“I’ll go watch his six,” he announced. “My head’s been killing me anyway; I’ll beg a couple aspirin off of McCoy.”

“You’re a brave man,” someone called after him as he hurried to follow Boma.

The mercenary had already made it to the sickroom by the time Jim got there. He was just boosting himself onto one of the beds, his bad hand smearing blood on the sheets. Bones whirled around as the door opened, and his expression furrowed when he saw Jim.

“Migraine,” Jim explained, heading for the second bed. He sat back and folded his hands over his stomach, raising an eyebrow at Bones and Boma when they kept looking at him. “You go ahead with him; I’ll wait.”

Bones looked at him for a second longer. Jim didn’t miss the flicker of relief in his eyes, and he knew he’d made the right call.

Bones said nothing as he returned his attention to Boma’s hand. Jim took the opportunity to watch him work, something he’d always enjoyed when he wasn’t the patient. While Bones had still been in school and then his residency while they were dating, he’d liked to volunteer at a local clinic. Some evenings, Jim would take his homework there and pretend to focus on code or equations while mostly just appreciating the sight of Bones in his element. There was this look he got while he was working, a certain spark in his eyes that Jim had always loved.

That spark was absent now though. Bones was still efficient and professional as he stitched up Boma’s hand, but his expression was set, his eyes empty. His joy in his work was just one more thing that Nero had taken from him.

“Keep that clean,” he told Boma once he’d taped a pad of gauze over the stitches. “I don’t mind cutting your hand off if you get gangrene, but I don’t imagine you’ll be very useful to your boss after that.”

Jim grimaced and tensed, but Boma didn’t react to the comment beyond a sneer. He just tucked his injured hand against his body and left without a word.

“Do you have to antagonize them?” Jim asked once the door had clicked shut. It would do wonders for his blood pressure if he could know that Bones wasn’t doing anything to provoke the wrath of his captors.

Bones was still facing the door, not looking at Jim.

“Something tells me you’re not in a position to judge,” he said flatly.

Jim could hardly argue with that.

Silence fell, and it was thick and stifling. There was tension in the set of Bones’ shoulders, far more than there had been when he was patching up a mercenary. And when he took a deep breath and turned around at last, his expression was more guarded too. Jim ached at the sight.

“I’ll go,” he said quietly. “I don’t actually have a migraine.”

“I figured.” Some of Bones’ guard dropped a little, but Jim couldn’t tell what was underneath it. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but the seconds just dragged on.

Finally, Jim got up and headed for the door. Bones didn’t try to stop him.


	5. Chapter 5

A few days passed without further incident. As they did, Jim slowly managed to get back into some semblance of the critical undercover headspace he would so desperately need in order to make it through this mission. It was harder to force himself to completely _be_ Ben Finney when someone who Jim Kirk’s life had once revolved around was one floor overhead and in what amounted to a constant state of mortal peril, but his eight years of training were finally starting to take hold again. The best thing that he could do for Bones was to continue to work the mission as efficiently and effectively as he could. And if he started spreading horror stories about the cantankerous Dr. McCoy to discourage the others from going to see him, well, Bones never had to know.

But almost a week after his impromptu guard mission, Jim was woken by the sound of pained moans and rustling fabric. He blinked his sticky eyes open and turned his head to the side, peering through the darkness towards his roommate’s bed. He could make out Chekov’s shape, unrolled from the ball he normally slept in and uncovered by the usual sheet. As he watched, one of the kid’s arms twitched, batting at something visible only to him.

“Нет,” he whimpered. “Hет, пожалуйста! Оставьте его!”

Jim frowned. His Russian was only passable, but he knew enough to understand that Chekov was in distress. Pleading with someone, pleading _for_ someone else.

“Hey.” Jim rolled out of his bed and crossed the short distance to Chekov’s. “Hey, Pavel. Easy. Wake up.”

He put a hand on the kid’s shoulder, intending to shake him awake. His fingers closed over fabric that was damp with sweat and did nothing to block the heat of fever radiating from Chekov’s skin.

“Pavel,” Jim said a little more urgently. He moved his hand from Chekov’s shoulder to his forehead, frowning at how warm he was. “Pavel, can you hear me?”

Chekov groaned, his eyelids fluttering. Actually opening them was apparently beyond his ability, but Jim appreciated the effort.

Just as he was wondering if he should go get some cool cloths or something for his forehead, Chekov made a very ominous noise and flailed weakly, flopping on his side just in time to vomit over the edge of his bed. Jim’s reflexes, already good to begin with and sharpened by years of relying on them to keep him alive, were still not quite enough to save his feet.

“That’s it,” he declared, wrinkling his nose.

He leaned in and slid an arm under Chekov’s shoulders. The kid was almost alarmingly thin, and it took next to no effort to lift him upright. He let out a muffled, slurred protest, but Jim wasn’t about to call that consciousness. He got his other arm under Chekov’s knees and scooped him up.

“Please try not to throw up on me again,” Jim said as he carried Chekov to the door, pausing only to grab his makeshift bug sweeper.

The halls were mostly empty at that time of night, but there were a few guards roaming. Those men gave Jim and his rather pitiful burden strange looks, but didn’t try to stop him. Jim kept up a steady stream of meaningless chatter, hoping that the sound of a friendly voice would be of some comfort. 

He wasn’t sure how successful he was. Chekov had stopped thrashing when Jim picked him up, but he continued to make sounds that were really starting to make Jim’s heart hurt. When he wasn’t whimpering, he was muttering a garbled stream of Russian that Jim had trouble parsing completely but that he understood enough of to start getting a sick feeling of his own.

It wasn’t long before he was kicking at Bones’ door to announce their arrival, and fumbling clumsily for the doorknob while he tried to avoid dropping 130 pounds of feverish Russian. The door gave way and he stumbled into the sickroom, just as the inner door swung open and Bones appeared. Jim stopped short, just for an instant. Dressed only in plaid cotton pants and a thin t-shirt, hair tousled and eyes bleary from sleep, Bones looked more…more like _Bones_ than Jim had seen him in eight years. And he missed him.

To his credit, Bones barely even blinked at the strange sight before he pointed at one of the beds and strode to his cabinet of supplies.

“What happened?” he asked, calm and professional.

Jim pulled himself together and set Chekov down gently on the bed that Bones had indicated.

“He's burning up, and he started thrashing and moaning in his sleep. He responded to me, but I couldn’t quite wake him up. When he started hurling, I figured it was time to bring him to you.”

Bones nodded, grabbing a stethoscope and a penlight as he approached Chekov.

“You remember how to take a blood pressure?” he asked as he peeled back Chekov’s eyelids to examine his pupils. Jim nodded. “Then do it. Cuff’s over there.”

He pointed, and Jim grabbed the blood pressure cuff. He wrapped it around Chekov’s arm and took the stethoscope that Bones passed him wordlessly. Bones tried without success to get a lucid response from his patient.

“140 over 98,” Jim reported after a moment.

Bones gave him an absent nod, fingers on Chekov’s wrist and lips moving soundlessly to the count of his pulse.

“All right, I need some room,” he said after a moment, and Jim took a reluctant step back.

Chekov grew instantly more restless, his flailing resuming. He came perilously close to kneeing Bones in the balls.

“On second thought, I could use a little less room,” Bones decided wryly. “Get back in here and do whatever the hell you were doing before.”

Jim hadn’t realized he’d been doing much of anything before, but he stepped back up to the bed and rested a hand on Chekov’s forehead.

“Easy there, Sputnik,” he said. “You’re the one who told me not to get on the good doctor’s bad side. Pretty sure whacking him in the nuts is a fairly expeditious way of earning yourself a one-way ticket there.”

He was babbling really, but it actually seemed to help. Chekov stopped thrashing, his garbled tirade subsiding back to the occasional whimper.

“That’s it,” Jim murmured, instinctively stroking his hand through the kid’s sweaty curls in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. “Just take it easy, Pav. We’ve got you.” He looked up at Bones. “We’ve got him, right?”

Bones was still busy fussing over Chekov, but there was a strange look on his face. He cleared his throat.

“Yeah. Looks like he’s got some kind of virus, which I can’t do much about, but I can give him something for the fever. That should help with his mental state.”

Jim nodded, relieved, and watched as Bones pulled the necessary supplies from one of his cabinets. Soon, there was an IV in Chekov’s arm and a cold compress on his forehead. Jim felt exceptionally useless, but he still stayed by the kid’s side as the drugs began to take effect and he relaxed into a more peaceful sleep.

“I can take it from here,” Bones said.

It was a dismissal if ever Jim had heard one.

“I know you can,” he said. “But I’d like to stay with him anyway, if…if that's all right.”

He tried not to hold his breath as he waited, afraid that he’d still be sent away. But Bones just studied him searchingly, his dark eyes unreadable.

“He’s going to be all right.” The words were said more gently this time.

Jim nodded. He trusted Bones, it was just…

“It shouldn’t matter to me this much,” he admitted. “I know he’s a part of this, he’s one of them. But this kid…”

Bones didn’t need to know that Chekov was only part of the reason Jim was so anxious to stay.

“He’s not like the rest of them,” Bones agreed. He sighed. “And yes, you can stay.”

“Thank you.”

Jim pulled the bug sweeper from the waistband of his pajama pants and twisted together the two exposed wires that activated it. He did a quick circuit around the sickroom, but picked up nothing.

“Looks clean,” he said, returning to Chekov’s bedside.

But Bones didn't seem to be listening. His arms were crossed over his chest as he frowned down at Chekov. There was something distant about his gaze that made Jim think it wasn’t just the Russian kid that he was seeing.

“Tell me about Joanna?”

Bones started and looked up. His mouth twisted, and Jim braced himself to be told to fuck off and mind his own business. But then Bones’ expression softened.

“Every parent who deserves to be one thinks their kid is the best,” he said, leaning back against the unoccupied bed. “But I figure that at least two of them have to be right.”

It took a moment for Jim to register that Bones was actually responding, not shutting him out. He nearly tripped over himself in his haste to reciprocate.

“And you’re one of them?” he guessed with a smile.

“Damn right I am.”

Bones smiled in response, and the night seemed a little less grim all the sudden. The smile faded quickly, but some of its light remained in his eyes. Jim hoped his staring wasn’t too obvious.

Bones crossed the room to his desk and came back with the framed photo that Jim had noticed on the first day. He handed it over, and Jim took the time to study it more carefully. Joanna’s hazel eyes, so like her father’s and yet so much clearer and more peaceful, sparkled up at him. The grin that stretched across her sandy cheeks could've lit up the cold depths of space.

“I know Nero only had that brought here to remind me of what’s on the line if I fuck up, but I’m still grateful to have it,” Bones said. “I took it a few weeks before I was grabbed. It wasn’t supposed to be my weekend with Jo, but Jocelyn’s new boyfriend surprised her with a trip to Alaska - tickets for two only. Dick move on his part, but it worked for me. Jo was disappointed that she didn’t get to go on the trip, so I promised to take her on a better one. I picked her up early from school that Friday and drove her out of the city, to the coast. She was in a _Frozen_ phase at the time, so she serenaded me with _Let it Go_ and _Do You Wanna Build a Snowman_ about two dozen times each.”

Bones chuckled softly, lost in the memory.

“She can carry a tune about as well as I can, so you can imagine what that sounded like. But I loved it. It was the kind of thing I’d been missing way too much of since the divorce.”

“You joined in, didn’t you?” Jim asked. “Don’t lie to me, you were totally belting it out right along with her.”

Bones didn’t even try to deny it.

“You try listening to an adorable four-year-old singing songs that catchy and see if you don’t join in.”

Jim grinned and raised his hands in surrender.

“Anyway, I’d rented us a cabin on the beach, one of the less populated stretches. Jo had been upset about not getting the chance to see bears in Alaska, so I promised her that we’d get to see lots of even cooler creatures.” Bones made a face. “To be perfectly honest with you, I’d been sweating that promise a little, because how the hell did I know what kinds of things we’d see at the beach? But she ran right down to the water as soon as we got to the house, and believe it or not, there were these amazing tide pools just waiting for us. You should’ve seen her face, Jim. The way she smiled…people become parents for smiles like that.”

If it had been anything like the smile in the picture, Jim thought he could see why. But he said nothing, just watched and listened as Bones continued the story.

“We spent hours out there, just looking. There must’ve been hundreds of critters in those pools, and she named every single one of them. She made up stories of where they came from, which ones were friends, which ones were in love, what their jobs were. That sea urchin she’s holding in the photo is Mr. Prickles. He’s a dentist, and he’s married to a lucky sand dollar named Morton, but he can’t stand Miss Shelly the snail.”

Jim laughed.

“Not sure if you’ve got a future marine biologist or a future novelist there,” he said.

“Well if you ask her, I’ve got a future veterinarian. The number of Band-Aids I’ve had to clean off of stuffed animals…” Bones shook his head, but he was still smiling softly. “Dogs are her favorite. She begged me for months to get one. I was about to surprise her with a trip to the shelter to pick one out, right before…this.”

Bones waved a hand at their surroundings, his smile fading. He looked down at the picture that Jim was still holding. His expression twisted, worry and unhappiness erasing the temporary levity. Jim couldn’t stand it.

“Tell me another story,” he prompted, hoping to distract Bones. Once upon a time, he wouldn’t have been forced to rely only on words to do that. He swallowed back a surge of helplessness.

Bones took a breath and closed his eyes. Jim ached to reach for him, to comfort, support, protect. But Bones was strong all on his own, and when he opened his eyes again a moment later, the pain in them had mostly receded.

“I’ve only gotten called to the principal’s office about her once,” he said, and that fond little smile came creeping back. “It was her third week of preschool, and Jocelyn was in court so it was just me going in. And I walked into the administration office and there she was, my little girl, sitting in what amounted to the time-out chair, clearly in trouble. But she didn’t look upset. She just had her arms folded over her chest the way her mother does when she’s winning an argument, her chin so high in the air I could practically see up her nose. And when she saw me, she said ‘Daddy, don’t be mad. I was using my head, not my fists, just like you told me.’”

“I thought the saying was ‘use your words, not your fists’?” Jim said.

“Yeah, well, I thought ‘head’ was more inclusive and would help teach her the value of intelligence.” Bones shook his head ruefully. “Which she’s got plenty of, as it turns out.”

“What’d she do?”

“She kept volunteering to refill her teacher’s water bottle-”

“And that was a bad thing?”

“She did it so the teacher would have to leave to go to the bathroom. Which he did, during nap time. At which point my daughter took the pair of safety scissors that she’d snuck from arts and crafts earlier and cut off all the hair of one of the other kids while he was sleeping.”

Jim choked on a laugh. It sounded like something he might have done as a child.

“Yeah, you think it’s funny,” Bones said, but he was smirking too. “But that boy sure didn’t, and the principal was none too thrilled either. She gave me this whole spiel about how Jo’s behavior was unacceptable and concerning and all that, and I apologized for her and what have you. And when I got Jo home and sat her down and asked her why she’d done it, you know what she said to me?”

Jim shook his head.

“She said she was ‘refusing to stand for injustice and unkindness in this world’ - her exact words. The boy she relieved of his hair had apparently been making fun of her friend, of her hair, specifically. It made the girl cry. And instead of just telling on him or insulting him back, my kid planned and executed an elaborate revenge plot.” Bones chuckled and shook his head. “I probably should’ve given her a lecture or a time-out or at least a crash course in proportional responses, but I took her to the zoo instead.”

Jim laughed.

“Why am I not surprised?” he said.

“Hey, Jocelyn was the one to teach her the word injustice, so I wasn’t taking the heat for that one,” Bones said, although his answering smile was a little sheepish.

“Yeah, and you were proud of her.”

Bones’ smile softened.

“And I was proud of her.”

This time he didn’t have to be prompted before he launched into another story. He had no shortage of them. He was every inch the proud father, and he had a lot of bragging to catch up on.

As he listened, Jim was filled with a wordless longing for a life that he’d sacrificed long ago without really appreciating what he was giving up. A life full of the joys and frustrations and love of a family, a life faced together with a partner who meant everything to him. A life forever lost to him now.

He did his best to swallow down the ache in his throat, to breathe through the sudden tightness in his chest. Those feelings had no place in the life he _had_ chosen.

“She sounds incredible,” he said honestly once another story had drawn to a close.

“She is.” Bones’ small, soft smile lingered for a moment, but then he sighed. “She’s the best thing that could have come out of everything that happened.”

There was no accusation in Bones’ voice this time, but the words still struck Jim like blows, opening up old wounds that had been festering with guilt for years.

“I’m sorry,” he said. The apology was long overdue. “Not about Joanna; I’m so glad you got to have her. But for what I did to you, what I put you through, I’m sorry. I know the words aren’t even close to enough, but that’s all I’ve got. I was just trying to…” He grimaced, wrapping his arms unconsciously around himself. “I knew it was going to be bad, when I left, and I thought- I thought that maybe if I left you in a particularly douchey way, it would make it easier for you to get over me, to write me off as not having been worth your time in the first place.”

He swallowed, remembering how hard it had been to write the email that would cost him so much, how the click of each key had made him wince, how his finger had hovered over the send button for nearly ten minutes, how he’d felt close to throwing up once the email had finally wooshed off into cyberspace. Of course, reading it could only have been worse.

“I’m not expecting you to forgive me,” he went on, voice dropping. “I just…wanted you to know. That it kills me to know how much I hurt you. And if I could go back…well, I guess it doesn’t mean anything to think about what I could’ve done differently. But I just…yeah. I’m sorry.”

God, it sounded like such a lame apology. Bones deserved so much better, he always had.

Bones studied him with eyes that were suddenly sad and tired. Before he could say anything though, Chekov shifted between them.

“Ben?” he murmured, his eyes blinking blearily.

“Hey,” Jim said, leaning over him to offer an attempt at a smile. It must have been a pretty pitiful one. “Back with us?”

“I do not know. Where was I?”

“Dreamland,” Bones told him. “You’re a little under the weather, and you won’t be feeling too great for the next few days, but you should be fine.”

Chekov’s eyes widened.

“Have I missed any work?” he demanded anxiously, attempting to sit up. Both Bones and Jim pushed him back down.

“Easy, you didn’t miss anything,” Jim assured him. “Although if I were you, I’d be jumping at the chance for a sick day.”

“Or two,” Bones cut in. “I want to see that fever down on its own for at least twenty-four hours before you-”

“But I cannot wait that long!” Chekov interrupted, dismayed. “What time is it? I have to get back!”

Jim and Bones exchanged a glance.

“Pavel, an hour ago you couldn’t even wake up,” Jim said gently. “You can’t-”

“I can, and I will,” Chekov insisted stubbornly. “I have to.”

Jim stared down at his friend in consternation. He looked ready to fight the two of them to be allowed out of the bed. It wasn’t a fight he would _win_ , but the fact that he was thinking about trying it anyway made Jim inclined to take him seriously. He looked at Bones again, and the doctor scowled.

“I don’t even know why I bother trying to look after you people,” he muttered. “None of you seem the least bit willing to look after yourselves.” He waved a hand. “Go ahead, take him back to your room. Leave that IV in him and let him sleep the rest of the night, and maybe he won’t pass out if he tries to work tomorrow. And if he does, you know where to find me.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and watched disapprovingly as Jim helped Chekov sit up and tugged one of the kid’s arms around his shoulders. They stood, Jim supporting as much of Chekov’s weight as he could get away with. Bones pressed the IV pole into Chekov’s free hand for him to use as additional support. Jim helped him slowly to the door, Bones trailing close behind.

Jim looked back when they reached the door. He wasn’t sure when he would get to see Bones next, and he felt like he should say something. But hadn’t he really already said what he could? And anything that might have been left couldn’t be said in front of an audience.

“Thanks,” he managed finally.

Bones nodded, his expression inscrutable.

“Like I said,” he told Jim. “You know where to find me.”

Before Jim could try to figure out exactly what that meant, Bones was closing the door between them once again.

*****

The next morning, Chekov looked like something even death wouldn’t want. But he still rose stubbornly when his alarm went off, while Jim watched in disbelief as he managed to get himself mostly dressed and ready for another day without toppling over.

Jim could feel the misery radiating from the other side of the computer room while they worked, but not once did Chekov utter a word of complaint. Of course, he didn’t offer any of his usual other words either, but Jim was still counting it as a miracle that he was conscious at all. He practically had to carry him back to their room once they’d finished the day’s work, which for him involved hacking three separate private security firms and Google, and for Chekov mostly consisted of trying not to lose millions of dollars by pressing the wrong key with his shaking fingers.

Suspicions and doubts had been nagging at Jim since the beginning, but as he deposited Chekov into his bed and watched him curl up into a little bundle of misery, they sharpened into something more. So instead of crossing over to his side of the room and doing his own thing, Jim sat down on the edge of the bed, next to Chekov’s head.

“Pavel.” He got no response. He tried again. “Pavel.”

“Am not dead,” Chekov assured him without opening his eyes. “Promise.”

“I’m glad to hear that, but I want to ask you something.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, now.”

Chekov let out a rather pitiful groan that nearly cracked Jim’s resolve. But he needed to know, and Chekov’s fever was likely to be lowering his inhibitions.

“Listen, I know why I’m here,” he said. “Got screwed over by the good guys, knew I wouldn’t have a future anywhere else. Figured this was as good as I was going to do.”

“Am glad you are living dream,” Chekov sighed, his accent thicker than Jim had ever heard it. “Please let me sleep.”

“You should’ve been sleeping all day. But instead I’ve been looking after you, and now I want some answers.”

Chekov frowned, his eyes finally cracking open to peer up at Jim with an odd, almost disappointed expression.

“Did not know that your kindness came with price.”

“What? No, I’m not saying that you - you _owe_ me, or anything, I’m just-” Jim broke off and sighed. “Would you believe I’m worried about you?”

Chekov studied him for another moment.

“Yes.” The kid closed his eyes again. Jim stared down at him.

“Did Nero abduct you?” he asked, quiet. Chekov’s was a valuable skill set, like Bones’. It stood to reason that he’d ended up at Narada the same way as Bones too. But then-

“No.”

Jim frowned, studying Chekov. It didn’t feel like a lie. But it didn’t feel like the whole truth either.

“Why are you here, Pavel?” he asked softly. He was walking dangerous ground here, but his instincts were pushing him on. “Really? Do you honestly believe in what goes on in this place?”

Chekov didn’t respond for so long that Jim thought he might have fallen asleep.

“Believe I need to be here,” he murmured eventually. It was all Jim could get out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Rain for the help with the Russian in this chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

Each day that went by brought with it a heightened sense of restlessness. Jim had never been good with being cooped up for long periods of time, and being all but confined to the basement level of a fancy terrorist base for nearly two months definitely qualified. His days held nothing but sitting at a computer for hours, his accomplishments consisting merely of trying to do as little harm as possible to the systems he was hacking for the man he hated most in the world.

He’d done his best to explore Narada, to gather what intelligence he could without raising too much suspicion. But Nero and his people were careful, and trust was a rare commodity. Which was why whatever progress Jim was making felt so agonizingly slow. Sure, the others didn’t watch him quite as closely anymore, didn’t eye him with suspicion over their poker tables or dinner trays, but they were just the foot-soldiers. Jim hadn’t seen Ayel since the sparring incident with Hendorff, and he’d yet to even catch a glimpse of Nero. How the hell was he supposed to build trust with men he never even saw?

He’d never been the patient one on missions like these. That had been Spock, steady and methodical. Jim was better with action, with getting things done and then getting out. But he could still play the game, could still make it through seemingly endless stakeouts and infiltration missions with unquestionable efficiency and only mild complaint.

But this mission. This fucking mission. Every moment that he spent waiting for an opportunity to prove himself was another moment that Bones spent in dangerous captivity, another moment that Nero could be hurting someone else. It was stretching each of Jim’s nerves to the breaking point.

When he’d started insulting his computer in different languages just to mix things up, a convalescing Chekov finally snapped and demanded an explanation for his growing agitation. When he got an abridged version of it, he nodded knowingly.

“You have the stars in your blood,” he said. “Not good for you to be underground.”

Jim knew that his problems couldn’t all be chalked up to a lack of vitamin D, but when Chekov offered him a potential remedy, he wasn’t about to ignore it.

That night, Jim followed Chekov’s directions up to the service area on the main floor. There he found a rickety metal staircase that brought him to a ladder that rose to a hatch that finally deposited him on a flat expanse of roof. The heavens stretched out overhead, innumerable stars visible out here without much light pollution. He could hear distantly the sound of the sea crashing against the cliffs below, could make out the glint of moonlight reflecting on the dark water that stretched toward the horizon.

Jim sucked in a deep breath of fresh sea air, feeling something within him settle. None of his problems were gone, but he’d rather be stressed out about them up here than in the dungeon he’d been spending the last two months in. The ocean breeze ruffled his clothes and played with his hair, and he closed his eyes with a faint smile. He would have to thank Chekov for this, whenever he finally managed to tear himself away from it.

He lay back on the roof, which still held a trace of warmth from the day’s sunlight. He gazed upward, taking in the brilliant display overhead. He’d lost track of the number of countries he’d done this in, but he never got tired of looking up at new stars.

Jim heard the door squeak open behind him and he tensed instantly, bracing himself for anything as an automatic reflex of his CIA training. He didn't think he was technically forbidden from being up here, but it would still be difficult to explain to a guard, who would probably be of the shoot first and ask questions never mindset.

“Should’ve known you’d find your way up here.”

The effect of Bones’ voice was instantaneous. Jim simultaneously relaxed out of battle-ready mode and got slammed with a whole different set of nerves.

How was it, that even after eight years with zero contact, Bones’ very presence was enough to wreak havoc on his heartbeat and make his stomach try to defy the forces of gravity?

He made sure his expression was under control, and then tilted his head back until he could see Bones without getting up. The view was upside-down, but serviceable. Bones was halfway through the access hatch, looking like he couldn’t decide whether to join Jim or just retreat. While Jim knew that the hesitation, the distance, was entirely his fault, that didn’t make it hurt any less.

It had been four days since the night in the sickroom, and Jim hadn’t let himself go back for a visit. He hadn’t been able to convince himself that Bones’ final words to him had been an invitation to return, and he hadn’t wanted to face the sharp ache of rejection again if he’d read things wrong. But he felt braver up here, in his blanket fort of stars.

“It’s got the best view,” he said, replying to Bones’ comment.

Bones clearly heard the double meaning. His expression flickered, too fast for Jim to read in the dim light. But then he settled on a snort. He finally climbed the rest of the way onto the roof, coming to sit a couple of feet to Jim’s left.

“Can’t say that’s why I first started coming up here,” he said, tilting his head back. “I haven’t had much taste for stargazing in a long while. But apparently neither has anyone else who works in this hellhole, because no one ever comes up here but the kid, and he's good about leaving me alone. It’s always been the only place I can get some air without risking unwanted company.”

“I’d imagine any company in this place would be unwanted,” Jim said. He waited, hoping, although for what he wasn’t sure. He felt Bones’ eyes on him, but he kept his own eyes on the stars.

“You would think.”

It was Jim’s turn to look, but Bones was staring skyward again. His expression was pinched and thoughtful. He sighed.

“I’ve been an ass.”

Jim hadn’t been expecting that. It startled a chuckle out of him.

“You just declaring that to the heavens, or are you waiting for me to contradict you, here?” he asked. He watched in surprised satisfaction as the corners of Bones’ mouth twitched a little.

“Neither, I guess.” Then he sighed, looking away from the stars to face Jim instead. It was too dark to get a good read on his expression. “I realize you’re in an impossible situation here. You’re risking something that you’ve been working toward for eight years, something that means everything to you for damn good reason.”

“Not everything.” Bones tensed slightly, and Jim backpedaled. “My first priority is protecting innocent people. That includes you and Joanna.”

“Well, whatever your reasons, I _am_ grateful,” Bones said after a moment. “I want you to know that; that I understand what you’re doing for my family, and it means a hell of a lot to me.”

Jim might have felt a little more deserving of that gratitude if he didn't feel so responsible for Bones’ current situation in the first place.

“I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting,” Bones went on when he didn’t say anything. “The truth is, I got over you a long time ago.”

Jim held himself perfectly still, refusing to let the sting of that show. That was what he’d wanted, after all. Wasn't that what he'd said, his justification for that stupid email? Well, mission fucking accomplished.

“It’s just that seeing you again, especially when it was so unexpected…well, it drudged up a lot of crap that I thought I’d buried. And my knee-jerk reaction was a little…prickly.”

Despite everything, Jim had to smile, just a little.

“If I couldn’t handle you being prickly, we never would've started dating in the first place,” he said. “It’s kind of your natural state of being.”

Bones huffed out a wry chuckle. There wasn’t much real humor in the sound, but it was still good to hear.

“Maybe it is.” He was quiet for a moment. “But I’ve been more than prickly these last couple weeks. I was punishing you for doing the best you could in an impossible situation, and that…wasn’t fair.”

“I understand,” Jim said quietly. “I probably deserved it.”

“Maybe. But telling you about Joanna that night with Chekov, it made me think about what I would do if someone took her from me, if I lost her the same way you lost your parents. It made me think about how I’ve _been_ feeling about Nero since he threatened her. In your position…I’m not sure I would’ve done anything much different than what you did.”

It felt a lot like absolution being offered. Jim didn't know how to accept it, or if he even could.

“You probably would’ve figured out some miraculous solution and had him locked away or in the ground the week after you started looking for him.”

Bones snorted.

“I’m a doctor, not Jason Bourne,” he said. “But the point I was trying to make is…well, there’s no point in dwelling over what’s done. And…and our relationship may have crashed and burned, but we were friends before we were anything else. And quite honestly, no matter how angry I’ve been at my ex-boyfriend all these years…I never quite stopped missing my best friend.”

Jim’s throat had gotten a little tight.

“Me neither,” he said, barely above a whisper. There was a beat of loaded silence.

“Well, if ever there was a time and a place where a man needs a friend, I’d say we’ve found them.”

Jim grimaced. A glorified terrorist camp with danger in every person they encountered and lives on the line every moment? Yeah, this was the kind of situation where you wanted at least one person you could trust.

But Bones wasn’t just someone he could trust. He was a serious chink in Jim’s armor. He was a liability that could get them both killed. He was a weak spot a mile wide.

And he wasn’t getting away from Jim a second time. Not if there was anything he could do about it.

“You asking to be my friend again?” he asked, giving the words a teasing tone. He couldn’t see Bones rolling his eyes in the darkness, but he didn’t have to see it to know that it was happening.

“Yes, you infant. If you’re lucky, I might even make you a friendship bracelet out of used tongue depressor wrappers.”

“I would treasure it always.”

“I just bet you would.”

Jim rolled over a few times until he nudged up against Bones’ side. He grinned at him. Bones shook his head, his expression a familiar mix of exasperation and fondness. It did strange things to Jim’s heart.

“You know you don’t have to ask, right?” he said more seriously. “To be my friend, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Bones replied, voice just as low. “I know.”

Jim had meant to look away in time to avoid awkwardness, but he found his gaze trapped, captivated. Because Bones didn’t look away either, and something about his expression made Jim forget how conscious control of his body worked. The night shadows were softening Bones’ face, the moonlight making his eyes shine. There was the faintest hint of a smile playing around his lips, and he looked like a goddamn fairy tale with the stars spread out behind him and the breeze ruffling his hair. He was breathtaking. He was untouchable.

Bones’ almost-smile faded into something else as the silence between them stretched on without either of them looking away. Jim wished for better lighting, so he could at least have a prayer of figuring out what was going through Bones’ head. But then again, better light would have exposed Jim’s expression too, and then the game would be up, wouldn’t it?

Bones cleared his throat abruptly and looked away. Jim tensed, preparing to attempt damage control, but Bones didn’t say anything. Jim decided to take that as a good sign.

“Does this mean I can call you Bones again?” He asked the question lightly in an attempt to disguise how much its answer meant to him.

“Have I ever really been able to stop you?” The faint smirk was audible in Bones’ voice.

Jim closed his eyes, surprised by the strength of the emotion that swept over him. It was just a nickname, and getting to use it again shouldn’t have meant so much to him. But that, more than anything, was what made him realize that Bones was serious about this, that Jim was getting his best friend back, at least a little.

Jim could feel himself grinning like an idiot, and he tried to tamp down his enthusiasm. The last thing he needed was to upset this delicate new balance by showing how deep his own feelings still ran.

He was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was still touching Bones’ side, and he shifted away slightly under the guise of folding his hands behind his head. He stared safely skyward.

After a moment, he felt Bones settle back beside him. The two of them stared up at the twinkling tapestry of stars for several minutes. The silence between them had grown comfortable, damn near easy, even. Jim was startled to realize how much he’d missed even this simple thing.

“So, how’s Chekov doing?” Bones asked eventually.

“He’s a thriving example of the indomitable Russian spirit,” Jim assured him. “Started looking like a person again around day two, started looking like a _living_ person again yesterday. Now he’s back to his sunshiny self. If not for the eau-du-puke still lingering in our room, you’d never know that anything happened.”

“Yeah, I’d noticed he got your feet,” Bones said, amusement coloring his voice. “And I’ll bet he didn’t even have the decency to warn you first.”

“Not so much as a how-do-you-do,” Jim agreed. “Young people these days, not warning a man before they ralph on him.”

“Shameful, is what it is. Back in my day, if you were gonna hurl on a captive audience, you made sure he was well-informed beforehand.”

“It’s only civilized.”

They were both of course referring to a fateful day eleven years ago. November of Jim’s junior year at Harvard, the Saturday after Thanksgiving.

_The plane hadn’t even left the ground yet, and there was already a baby screaming, a couple arguing loudly about which one of them would get to sit next to the window, and a kid kicking the back of Jim’s seat. It was going to be one of those flights, he could feel it. This was what he got for being a dutiful son, for coming home for Thanksgiving rather than just staying in Boston._

_So when he heard the sounds of a disgruntled passenger arguing unsuccessfully with one of the flight attendants, he was utterly unsurprised when the man was directed in no uncertain terms to the seat right next to his own._

_“I may throw up on you,” the man informed Jim without preamble, and seriously, who said that as their first words to a perfect stranger?_

_Jim looked up, eyebrows raised. Then he blinked._

_The guy sitting next to him was pasty grey in color, his mouth pressed into a hard line. His slightly wild eyes were darting around the plane, jumping between passengers and emergency exits and the overhead televisions playing the blurry safety video. He looked distinctly disheveled, with a wrinkled jacket thrown over an inside-out shirt and jeans that looked like they could use a washing. The faint odor of cheap liquor clung to him like a depressing cloud._

_But none of that was why Jim found himself staring. The guy was a hot mess. A hot,_ hot _, mess._

_But even that level of attractiveness could not make Jim excited about getting puked on._

_“I think these things are pretty safe,” he told the man, hoping to calm him down a little._

_It was apparently the wrong thing to say. It unleashed what turned out to be an impressively long-winded diatribe on the dangers of avionics and the various vulnerabilities of the human body. After all of that, Jim’s next question felt only natural._

_“So…why didn’t you just take the train?”_

_He didn’t know it at the time, but the look that this question earned him was one that would become quite familiar and dear to him._

_“Well gee, you must be some kind of genius.” The stranger’s eyes dropped to the shirt Jim was wearing. “They teach you those fancy problem solving skills at Harvard?”_

_“Preschool is actually when I learned about choo-choo trains, but I’m told I was a gifted child.”_

_“Well did they also teach you about time in preschool? Because that’s what I didn’t have enough of when I checked my email this morning and saw that my professor had rescheduled a practical exam for tonight instead of tomorrow afternoon, probably because he checked his calendar and realized he had a dentist appointment or something tomorrow and he’s tenured. You can always tell the tenured ones.” He shook his head. “The wonder of higher education.”_

_He fished a brushed metal flask out of his pocket and Jim watched in mild disbelief as he took a swig._

_“How the hell did you get that past security?”_

_For the first time, the guy’s expression lightened from petrified and homicidal to petrified and smug. He just winked at Jim. Then he held out the flask._

_Jim raised an eyebrow. It was eleven AM and the two of them were perfect strangers. But then he just shrugged and accepted the flask, taking a sip of what turned out to be bourbon._

_“Jim Kirk,” he introduced as he returned the drink._

_“McCoy. Leonard McCoy.”_

_Jim ended up talking to Leonard McCoy for the entire flight. Maybe it was out of politeness at first, or the not entirely selfless desire to keep his companion calm, but he quickly started to enjoy himself. McCoy wasn’t really the chatty type, but once they got going, he revealed a dry, biting wit, and a personality that managed to be thoroughly engaging beneath the initial standoffishness. It turned out that he was in his third year at Harvard Medical School, so he and Jim had plenty to talk about._

_Despite McCoy’s initial threat, and a couple of alarmingly close calls during patches of turbulence, Jim didn’t actually end up getting puked on. He was thoroughly grateful, although by the end of the flight, he didn’t think he really would've minded. It would've taken more than that to turn him off of the entrancing stranger that fate had seen fit to seat him next to._

_By the time they landed, Jim had decided that the two of them were going to be friends. He didn’t bother consulting McCoy on this; once Jim Kirk decided he was going to be your friend, you really didn’t have much say in the matter. So once they’d disembarked the “flying metal death tube,” Jim stopped McCoy before he could head outside to hail a cab._

_“Here,” he said with a bright, impish smile, holding out his gift. “In case you get carsick as well as airsick.”_

_McCoy scowled but snatched the stolen barf bag from Jim’s hand._

_“You’re hilarious, Kirk,” he grumbled._

_He turned to go, waving a careless hand behind him in farewell. Jim watched him leave, hoping he’d played his cards right and that it wouldn’t be the last time he saw him._

It hadn’t been, of course. Bones had found the phone number that Jim had scrawled on the barf bag, and incredibly he’d actually used it. Of course, he then always blamed the fact that they’d spent the next painfully clueless year oblivious to the less than platonic nature of each other’s feelings on the fact that Jim had chosen the least romantic means of number exchanging known to man.

Jim smiled a little at the memory, but it faded faster than it had appeared.

Things had seemed so complicated back then, but really they’d been so very simple. Jim was in love with his best friend, and his best friend was in love with him right back, and once they’d both figured that out, it was like the last piece of some great puzzle had clicked into place. They’d settled quickly into a relationship that felt as natural and easy as breathing.

Jim would give a lot to be able to go back to those days. But he'd slammed and barred that door a long time ago, and there was no prying it back open.

“You used to dream about going up there.”

Bones’ quiet voice pulled Jim from his wandering thoughts and back to the present. His eyes darted to the side to see that Bones was still studying the sky thoughtfully.

“Still do,” he admitted.

“Really?”

“Really.” Jim sighed, looking up again to trace constellations with his eyes. “I didn’t…I wouldn’t have chosen this, Bones. I mean don’t get me wrong, it’s important work, and I’m good at it. I’ve got a great team and we’ve done a lot of good over the years. But space…that’s always been my real passion, and I don’t think that’ll ever change. I still look up there and get this feeling, like there’s so much just waiting for me.”

“What, disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence?”

Jim rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips.

“No, Dr. Downer. The _unknown_. Pure exploration, discovery for its own sake. Up there, there’s no politics, no one trying to blow each other up, no mind-numbing mundanity. It’s just raw _being_ , beautiful and scary and exciting. It’s water on Mars and thousands upon thousands of unexplored planets and science that we can’t even dream of yet. It’s possibility in its purest form. So yeah, I still dream about going up there. The only difference is that those dreams are _just_ dreams now, not plans.”

He fell silent, gaze trailing over the brilliant display stretched above him. He thought back to a night nine years ago, on a different roof but with the same man at his side. The power had gone out in all of Boston at 2 AM, and Jim had dragged asleepy and disgruntled Bones up to the roof of their apartment building. They’d squeezed into the same sleeping bag, one of Jim’s arms free so that he could point up at the sky, now stunningly free of light pollution. He’d shown Bones every constellation visible that night, passed along to him the stories that his mother had shared when she’d done the same thing with him in D.C. Bones had listened to the stories, but his eyes always seemed to be fixed on Jim rather than the sky.

“Huh.”

Jim blinked.

“Huh, what?”

“I’d forgotten about that.” Jim couldn't make sense of Bones’ tone.

“Forgotten about _what_?”

“About what it’s like to listen to you talk about space. You always used to go on and on about it, and you’d get this look in your eye…”

Jim chanced a look to the side again. Bones still wasn’t looking at him, but he had an odd, almost wistful expression on his face.

“Anyway, I’d forgotten what it was like.”

Jim wasn’t quite sure what to say to that.

“Yeah well, I don’t get to talk about it much anymore,” he said.

“That’s a damn shame.”

Silence fell between them again, but Bones broke it after just a moment.

“I used to hate the thought of you going up there.” His voice was quiet, reflective. “I knew you could do it, is the thing. Tons of kids grow up dreaming of being astronauts, but like you said, you had plans. And when Jim Kirk plans on something, it happens. I knew that one day I was going to have to watch you shoot yourself into space, fly so far out of my reach…I hated the thought of not being able to get to you if something went wrong. I knew I’d be a nervous wreck the entire time, thinking about all the things that could go wrong, all the ways I could lose you.”

Jim kept silent. He’d known some of this, of course. Bones had always been supportive of his dreams, but Jim had known him too well to miss the signs of his worries.

Bones snorted, and the sound had a hard edge.

“Of course, I lost you anyway, and you managed to wind up in a job that’s even more dangerous than launching yourself into space in a tin can.”

Jim’s stomach tightened, the bitterness in Bones’ voice hitting him like a physical blow.

“Bones…” What could he say to that?

“Ah, hell.” Bones sounded frustrated, although whether it was with himself or Jim was difficult to tell. “I’m sorry, J-” he caught himself and bit off the name. “I’m not- I’m not looking for anything here, not really. You did what you felt like you had to do. I get that now.”

Jim folded his arms over his stomach so that he wouldn’t be tempted to reach out to Bones.

“I did,” he said. “But you should know; I’m sorry about the way I did it. Truly. I wasn’t fair to you.”

Bones sighed, the sound nearly lost in the rustle of the night breeze and the distant crashing of waves.

“Maybe not,” he said. “But I think…I think I always knew, somehow, that I wouldn’t get to keep you. Your hopes and plans were always so much bigger than me. You wanted the galaxy, and I just wanted you.”

Jim dug his fingers into his sides, his throat burning dully. He had wanted the galaxy, it was true. He’d wanted the skies and the stars and everything beyond. But he’d wanted Bones most of all.

But it wouldn’t be fair to either of them to say so now. Bones wouldn’t believe him, and even if he did, what could come of it? What good would it do for Bones to know that Jim had loved him back just as fiercely, that they could have had so much? It wouldn’t change the fact that Jim had put him through hell, had let him down in just about every way imaginable. It wouldn’t change the fact that they’d lost their chance a long time ago, and trying to pretend otherwise would only get them both hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Bones didn’t respond right away. Jim focused on his breathing, timing it to the crashing of the waves below.

“Just tell me something,” Bones said eventually. “Was it worth it?”

The question was so simple, but it still managed to knock Jim on his ass. Because somehow, in all of the thousand thoughts that had been bouncing around his brain over the last couple weeks, not once had that one come up. Maybe because his brain was subconsciously trying to protect him from its answer.

“Ask me when this is all over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this story is going to have a plot at some point but for now here, have some idiots stargazing on a rooftop


	7. Chapter 7

It was amazing, how much being on better terms with Bones changed Jim’s attitude. He was still constantly on edge, worrying about what could happen while he was stuck in the basement and Bones was situated so close to the daily action of Nero’s operations, but it felt like a burden that had been crushing him had lessened somewhat. He spent less time haunted by the memories of Bones’ pain and anger, by regrets and what-ifs. And rather than being distracted, he was that much more motivated to get the job done.

Best of all were the almost daily visits to Bones that he allowed himself. He always took care to avoid being seen, and listen at the door to make sure that no one else was in the sickroom, but he deemed it worth the risk. If he was going to see them both safely through this, contact and communication were essential. Bones could keep him updated on Nero’s condition, which was unfortunately basically fine, and Jim could…well, Jim just got to see Bones, and that was really all the reason he needed.

Their topics of conversation during these visits varied. Most of the time they went with something casual. In their circumstances, and with the rocky history between the two of them, it was just better all around to keep it light. Bones would tell Jim stories about some of his more colorful patients, and Jim would respond with anecdotes from his more memorable missions. He couldn’t discuss classified mission details, for any number of reasons, but he did share stories of his team, telling Bones about the time Scotty and Uhura had gotten stuck in a Swiss cable car for seven hours with a family of very American, very tourist-y tourists and Uhura had finally cracked and climbed hand-over-hand down the entire length of the cable rather than continue to wait for rescue. And then there was the time that Spock had to go undercover as a runway model and nearly got eaten alive while Jim and Scotty sat in the surveillance truck trying not to laugh too hard into their mics.

“And don’t even get me started on the time Katana and I had to infiltrate a major mannequin producer,” Jim said one day. He used code names for the members of his team in all of his stories. Not because he didn’t trust Bones, but because his team trusted _him_ , to protect their identities as fiercely as any of them would protect his. Sharing them as he’d shared his own wasn’t his decision to make. “Well, I say mannequins. Really, it was a sex doll factory.”

He took more satisfaction than he probably should have from the way Bones choked on nothing but air.

One night though, Jim arrived to find Bones sitting at his desk, face shadowed, holding the picture of Joanna. He stared down at his daughter with exhausted, sad eyes, not even looking up when Jim entered.

“Bones?”

“She used to get so upset at the sight of my stethoscope.” Bones still didn’t look at Jim. “She’d start yelling ‘no necklace! No necklace!’ when she saw me wearing it. Took me weeks to figure out why.”

Jim drew closer to Bones and stood beside him. He wanted to settle a hand on his friend’s shoulder, but he refrained. He was still figuring out the rules of their tentatively repaired friendship.

“Why?” he asked when Bones seemed to get lost in his own thoughts again.

“Oh. She’d figured out that when she saw me wearing it, it was because I was about to go to work. She associated it with me leaving her.”

Jim really did put his hand on Bones’ shoulder then. Bones didn’t pull away.

“It killed me, that the symbol of something that meant so much to me was upsetting her like that. But then I sat her down on my lap and put the earpieces in her ears and let her listen to her heart. When I told her what the sound was, her eyes got so big…she thought it was the most amazing thing, that she could hear her own heart. And then I put the chestpiece over _my_ heart, and let her listen to that. When I asked her what she was hearing, she said ‘Daddy’s heart.’”

Bones’ voice was getting thick. Jim squeezed his shoulder, feeling helpless.

“‘That’s right,’ I told her. ‘That’s Daddy’s heart. And it belongs to you. Always and forever, even when I’m away.’” Bones finally looked up at Jim, and his eyes were far too bright. “I told her that I did my best to take care of it for her, and I carried my stethoscope with me so that I could check on it every once in a while, and so I could do the same for other people.”

Jim sat on the edge of the desk, facing Bones.

“Did it work?” he asked.

Bones smiled. It was a tiny, heartbreaking thing.

“Yeah, it did,” he said. “She still didn’t like it when I left, but she felt better about it. And when Jocelyn and I separated, I found a special kid-sized stethoscope and gave it to her. I told her that whenever she was missing me, she could listen to the sound of her heart, and remember the other heart that was hers.”

“I’m sure that helped,” Jim said softly, even though he was sure of no such thing. How the hell would he know?

“Yeah, maybe.” Bones’ gaze dropped back to the photo. “I just can’t help but wonder how many times she’s had that stethoscope to her chest in the last few months. Does she do it more often now, or less? She’s a bright kid. She’ll know there’s something off about me disappearing without a trace or a goodbye, and she won’t buy the BS I had to give Joce forever. It can’t have taken her long to start thinking that I just abandoned her-”

“She won’t think that, Bones.” On this, Jim felt more certain, and he hoped it showed. “If you were the kind of father I think, then there’s no way she’ll believe for a second that you would leave her willingly.”

“Maybe, but that’s just the thing, isn’t it?” Bones asked grimly. He set the photo down gently on his desk and let his head fall into his hands. “Because if she rules that out, how long do you think it’s going to take for her to start wondering if I’m dead?”

Jim didn’t have an answer for him.

*****

On the fifth day after the night on the roof, Jim made his way up to Bones’ rooms in good spirits. It had been a pretty good day, all things considered. He’d managed to put on a good show of efficiency while actually repairing a few vulnerabilities in the systems he was supposed to be hacking. He’d gotten invited to a card game by some of the more senior personnel, a sign that he was still making progress, however slow, in gaining valuable trust. For the first time since Chekov’s illness, their room had smelled normal when Jim woke up. And he’d even managed to scrounge up half a bottle of whiskey to surprise Bones with. What more could he ask for? Well, probably a lot of things, but he’d take what he could get.

As usual, he paused to listen at Bones’ door. He didn’t hear the sounds of anyone whining, or of Bones lecturing, so he deemed it safe to enter. He tapped out the special knock that they’d settled on so that Bones would know it was him coming. Bones had scoffed at the idea initially, but Jim hadn’t wanted to see that quick flash of fear in his friend’s eyes every time he opened the door unannounced. It had worked so far.

The outer office was empty when Jim entered, the lights turned off. He frowned. Bones usually left those lights on until eleven, and it was barely ten thirty. Still, he could’ve decided to call it an early night, or had a migraine, or something. Jim crossed the room and knocked on the door to Bones’ bedroom.

“Bones?” he called softly. “You conscious in there?”

He got no response, so he pushed the door open as quietly as he could, in case Bones was sleeping. He knew as he did that it was an empty gesture. Bones had always been a light sleeper even under normal circumstances, and these certainly weren’t normal. No way Jim wouldn’t have woken him up if he was in his room.

Sure enough, the lights were off and Bones’ bed was empty. The bathroom was equally deserted.

Jim’s gut started to churn, but he forced himself to stay calm. It wasn’t as if Bones spent every minute of every day in these rooms. He had been called away to Nero’s side before, and he’d told Jim that he made trips up to the roof when he wanted to be alone. He may have been a prisoner at Narada, but he had more or less free reign of the common areas of the complex. He just chose not to exercise it very frequently, what with the hardened criminals he was liable to run into.

So Jim most definitely Did Not Panic once he’d concluded with complete certainty that Bones was nowhere in his suite. He simply settled into Bones’ chair and waited, flipping idly through the papers and articles on his desk and pretending that he could focus enough to actually read any of them. He was painfully aware of the time as it passed by, the minutes stretching into an hour.

As the end of the second hour drew near, Jim couldn’t take it anymore. He left Bones’ suite and headed for the roof, the only other place he’d ever encountered Bones at Narada. He found it empty.

The list of places that Bones might be and that Jim actually had access to was quite short after that, and Jim exhausted it quickly. He soon found himself back in Bones’ office, and while he was still very determinedly Not Panicking, it was getting harder to convince his racing heart and roiling stomach and sweating palms of that fact.

But there were no signs of anything amiss. No broken glass or overturned jars. No…god help him, no _bloodstains_. No indications that Bones had been removed more unwillingly than he’d done anything since his capture. And Bones had explained that Nero’s MS was unpredictable. He could have attacks at any time, which meant he could need his doctor at any time. Bones was probably with him now, glaring daggers at him but helping him anyway. And while it was about the least comforting idea on the planet to think of Bones with Nero, it was still preferable to some of the alternative possibilities that Jim’s brain was tossing around. He’d seen too much of the evil in this world, and those memories weren’t doing him any favors just then.

He was eventually forced to conclude that there wasn’t a single damn thing he could do. There was no telling how long Bones might be with Nero, and Jim couldn't stay in the sickroom all night. Chekov would notice that he wasn’t in their room, and the kid probably already had too many reasons to be suspicious as it was.

“Bones is fine,” Jim said aloud to himself as he took one last look around the room, as if Bones might pop out from one of the corners and start scolding him about breaking into other people’s rooms. “He’s fine. He’s too valuable to Nero to not be fine.”

His powers of self-persuasion could use a little work. Still, despite his misgivings, he forced himself to turn the lights off and leave Bones’ suite as he’d found it.

*****

Jim usually tried to avoid visiting Bones during the day, but the next day was not a usual one. Jim had barely slept, and his worry had only amplified overnight. He could give himself as many rational, harmless possible explanations as he wanted for why he hadn’t been able to find Bones, but that didn’t mean he could make himself believe them. So he slipped away during his lunch break and dodged through the halls to Bones’ rooms.

They were as empty as they’d been the day before.

“Is something wrong, Ben?” Chekov asked him when he returned to the computer room later. “You are looking like I felt two weeks ago.”

Jim shook himself and gave the kid a tight smile. It was still too soon to overreact, and he had a cover to maintain and a job to do. Not that he could focus on that job much for the rest of the day.

He meant to go straight back to Bones’ suite after he finished his work, but he got pulled into a training drill before he could slip away. Ayel had apparently been on some kind of “business trip”, but he was back now and he hadn’t forgotten Jim. He remembered the spat with Hendorff, remembered the promise that Jim had shown, and wanted him to be ready in case he was needed in a less passive capacity than hacking computers.

Normally, Jim would have been pleased by what was clearly a sign of progress, but that night he couldn’t have cared less. The drills seemed to drag on endlessly. Jim did his best to downplay the extent of his abilities, except for when it would cost him the respect he’d been working so hard to cultivate. It was a hard line to walk.

When it was over, he declined the invitations to card games and a late night meal in the mess, instead hurrying up to Bones’ rooms the instant he was free to do so. He was being careless, he knew, taking unnecessary risks. But in that moment, they didn’t feel unnecessary.

Jim didn’t think he’d really been expecting to find Bones, but that didn’t make it any less of a gut-punch to find the sickroom still dark and empty. He did another search of the places he thought Bones had any chance of being, and a couple he didn’t, but once again he came up with nothing.

It was getting harder to rationalize Bones’ ongoing absence. It had stretched on too long to be something routine or innocuous. Jim needed answers.

He had always been cautious in his previous explorations of Narada. He’d tried to be thorough, yes, because any piece of intel could be critical later on, but he’d also had to be careful. With a long-term mission like this one, it wasn’t a good idea to seem too inquisitive, to get caught poking his nose into places he couldn’t excuse it being. But Jim had stopped caring what was or was not a good idea right about the time he found an empty interrogation room with an ominously stained drain in the floor, and he couldn’t hold back anymore.

He’d already pressed Bones for every bit of information he had about Nero. He hadn’t seemed to mind the breach of doctor-patient confidentiality, funnily enough. Might’ve had something to do with the fact that the patient kidnapped the doctor and threatened his kid. So Jim knew exactly where Nero’s rooms were, knew where the guards were posted and how to avoid them. It was time to put that knowledge to use.

He wasn't entirely sure what he'd actually do if he found Bones in Nero’s rooms. If he saw any of the things he was afraid he'd see…he wasn't sure if he'd be able to stop himself from killing Nero then and there, mission be damned.

But when he snuck quietly inside, it was to find the palatial suite as dark and lifeless as Bones’ sickroom had been. The bed was perfectly made, the kitchen was spotless; there was little sign that anyone lived there at all. Jim stood motionlessly in the center of a polished living room, heart and mind racing.

Bones was missing. There was no denying it now. Bones was missing, and so was Nero.

He forced himself to take a breath. Panicking wouldn’t help anything, and it certainly wouldn’t help Bones.

He looked around again. If Nero had taken Bones somewhere, there might be something in his files to indicate the trip.

He found the door that connected the living area to Nero’s office. Once again, everything was impeccably neat. There wasn’t a paper out of place on the large mahogany desk, no half-drunk mugs of coffee or discarded pens. There was a computer powered down on the desktop, but Jim didn’t go to that first. Good as he was, it was still difficult to hide one’s trace when snooping through someone else’s computer. And he had no way of knowing whether or not Nero had traps installed to catch intruders.

So Jim picked the lock on the largest desk drawer and began to rifle through it carefully, making sure to leave it visibly undisturbed. The papers were all fairly innocuous, concerning mostly the day-to-day upkeep and operations of Narada itself. Nothing that would even make him look all that shady in the eyes of a court. There didn’t appear to be any sign of what might have been done with Bones.

Jim moved onto a second drawer.

“See anything interesting?”

Jim froze. He didn’t lift his head, but he heard the familiar and unmistakable sound of a bullet being chambered. He took a breath and plastered on a smile.

“Hey, easy,” he said, raising his hands and standing slowly. He found himself face to face with a guard he recognized by sight but not by name. And a gun. He was also face to face with a gun. “I’m just checking the wiring for Nero; he said his ethernet connection was getting a little spotty.”

“That computer isn’t connected to any network,” the guard said, taking a step closer to Jim. His finger was steady on the trigger. “Care to try again?”

Jim grimaced. This was over, and they both knew it.

“Get out here,” the guard snapped, gesturing with his gun. “Mr. Ayel will deal with you. I’m sure he’ll have plenty of questions. I just hope you’ve got some better answers by then.”

That wasn’t going to work for Jim. He made a show of complying, keeping his hands raised as he sidled around the desk.

“So what you’re saying is that you want to…take me to your leader?” he asked with a cheeky grin. The guard blinked at him.

Jim struck out with brutal speed and precision, grabbing his opponent by the wrist and driving his fingers into the sensitive nerves and tendons there. The guard yelped and dropped the gun, which Jim kicked under the desk. The sound of a gunshot would be catastrophic, no matter what the bullet hit. He used his grip on the guard to yank him close, looping an arm around his neck and flexing hard.

The guard struggled, but he’d been taken by surprise and Jim’s sleeper hold was quick and effective. The man’s legs soon collapsed under him, and Jim sank with him to the floor, still maintaining pressure. When the body in his arms finally went limp, Jim waited for several seconds before releasing his grip.

He stared down at the unconscious man for a long moment, mind racing. He ran through all of the possible ways this could end in his head, and kept circling back to the same conclusion.

“Shit.”

*****

Jim knew he should just go back to his room. Grab a book, chat with Chekov, play it cool. He'd taken more than enough risks for one day, and it had cost him. But he was still no closer to figuring out what had happened to Bones. As long as that was true, he couldn't take the passive route.

So instead of returning to the basement, he made his way to one of the supply storage areas. It was well stocked with all kinds of chemicals, for cleaning, vehicle maintenance, landscaping, and…other things. Jim scrounged what he needed and got to work.

The next morning, Jim joined Chekov for their usual breakfast in the mess. He did a quick scan of the room, relieved when he spotted Ayel at a table in one corner, eating with a few of the other higher ranking members of Narada.

Mentally, Jim braced himself. This was again more familiar territory. It was just another mission, the kind Jim had always been good at. This was something he could actually do.

He did another visual sweep of the room, looking for a target. He felt a quick surge of grim satisfaction. Thompson was there. Jim still couldn’t look at the man without thinking of his comment about hitting Bones. Perfect. He could do this without even feeling guilty about it.

In the usual bustle of breakfast with a few dozen other people, it was a simple task to slip the tablet he’d made the night before into Thompson’s cup of rehydrated milk. It would dissolve quickly into the cloudy liquid, and Thompson would be none the wiser.

The harder part was waiting for his plan to take effect. Jim sat with his breakfast at the table next to Thompson’s, and had to act normal while paying attention for any sign of progress. It took several long, _long_ minutes.

There was the clatter of a fork being dropped.

“Hey Thompson, you all right? You look like shit.”

Jim didn’t let himself turn around yet, but he listened intently. Thompson didn’t answer the question right away. Instead, there was the scraping of a cheap chair against the dirty linoleum floor, and the clatter of something knocking into a table.

“I don’t- something’s-” Thompson’s voice was weak and thin.

Some of the other people at Jim’s table finally noticed what was going on, and Jim turned in his seat at once. Thompson was standing, more or less, hands braced on the table, sweat gleaming on his face. His skin was an ominous yellow-green tinged grey, and Jim could see the way his legs were trembling.

He fell with a satisfyingly loud crash. Jim hurried to his side, feigning a look of concern. He bent over the fallen man, noting the way his eyes had rolled up in his head. He was certainly putting on a good show.

“He needs a doctor,” Jim said loudly, getting an arm beneath Thompson’s shoulders and hoisting him up a little. No one else seemed particularly inclined to get close enough to help him. “Someone help me take him up to McCoy.”

“Don’t bother.” It was the voice Jim had been waiting for. He looked up to find Ayel standing over them, arms crossed and expression blank.

“Why not?” Jim asked. “The man’s clearly sick.”

“Yes, my eyes are working, Finney, thank you. But McCoy’s no longer with us.”

Jim’s heart froze in his chest. He nearly dropped Thompson.

“What-” his voice came out as a soundless croak. He tried again. “What do you mean?”

Ayel couldn’t have meant what it sounded like. He just couldn’t. Jim wouldn’t accept that, wouldn’t _survive_ that.

“I mean he’s gone right now, and he’s going to stay gone for two more days, and why isn’t any concern of yours,” Ayel snapped. “Thompson’s going to have to manage until he gets back.”

Jim started breathing again. He didn’t know what exactly ‘gone’ meant, but coming back he understood. A dozen more questions burned on the tip of his tongue, but he could sense that it would be worse than useless to ask them. Ayel didn’t seem the type to appreciate being questioned, and pressing too hard could only mean trouble for both Jim and Bones.

“You may as well take him up to the sickroom anyway,” Ayel went on after a moment, nodding at the still semiconscious Thompson. “No point in exposing everyone else to whatever he’s got.” He glanced at the ring of gathered spectators, each of whom started to back away. “Riley, you help him.”

This drew sighs of relief from everyone but the unlucky Riley, who visibly sucked in a deep breath and got on the other side of Thompson. On Jim’s count, they lifted him between them and made their way toward the door.

“You do realize that you can’t hold your breath for the entire trip upstairs, right?” Jim asked once they’d cleared the mess hall.

He got no answer. Less than thirty seconds later, there was an explosion of ragged gasping from beside him.

“Told you.”

“Shut up.”

Jim might have enjoyed the vindication more under other circumstances.

*****

The next two days passed with excruciating slowness. If Jim had thought that imagining the possibilities of what could happen to Bones while he was at Nero’s compound were bad, it was nothing compared to what his mind did with the knowledge that he was abroad somewhere, most likely with Nero, impossibly far out of Jim’s reach and ability to help him.

It was ironic, really. Jim had been horrified to discover that Bones was at Narada. But now he’d give just about anything to have him back.

Jim did his best to find out more about where Bones had been taken, but he couldn’t do much without looking suspicious. Looking into Bones meant looking into Nero, and Jim had already seen how poorly that could go. All he could do was remind himself of Ayel’s evident certainty that he would be returning, and keep that deadline in his head.

The evening of the day Ayel had indicated, Jim went up to Bones’ suite immediately after finishing his work. It was the same blow it always was to find it empty, but he just settled in the desk chair to wait. At least Thompson wasn’t there anymore. The poison Jim had dosed him with had worked its way out of his system fairly quickly, and he’d been able to return to the general barracks once he’d convinced his fellow thugs that he wasn’t contagious.

The silence in the room felt thick and stifling. Jim tried once again to flip through Bones’ medical journals, but he could only stare blankly at the articles, their meaning lost on him. And when he looked up, his eyes were drawn to the photo on the desk.

He had to look quickly away from Joanna’s bright, beaming smile. That smile was for Bones, for the father that she was far too young to lose. Jim had promised to get her father safely back to her, and now he didn’t even know where he was.

After about three hours, he couldn’t stand it anymore. Every nerve in his body was stretched taut, and if he stayed still for another minute, he was going to snap.

He got up and headed for the roof, not for its view of the stars this time, but of the driveway that led into the complex. Up there, he would see the moment Bones arrived, and he wouldn’t feel quite as trapped as he did inside.

There was already someone on the roof when he arrived. His gut lurched, but before relief could set in, he realized that the profile was all wrong. It wasn’t Bones waiting for him. He tensed, preparing to make an excuse and a hasty retreat. But then the figure turned and spoke, and Jim recognized the voice.

“You are waiting for him too?” Chekov asked.

Jim slowly stepped further onto the roof, letting the door swing shut behind him. He thought about lying, but he suspected that Chekov would see through it.

“I just want to make sure he gets back all right,” he said, trying to sound unconcerned. “As Thompson so spectacularly demonstrated, it’s good to have a doctor around the place.”

“Perhaps,” Chekov replied. “But it is this doctor in particular that I am concerned for. He has always been kind to me. He does not deserve what has happened to him.”

Jim’s throat closed up. He couldn’t argue with that.

He walked to the edge of the roof and sat, legs dangling over the edge. He had a good view of the driveway, even in the rapidly fading light. A moment later, Chekov sat down beside him.

They remained there in silence while the evening turned into night around them. Save for the occasional bird or bat passing by overhead, everything was still. One by one, the stars appeared, but Jim couldn’t look at them. They reminded him of the night he’d spent up here with Bones. They reminded him of the mistakes he’d made.

“Why are you here, Pavel?” Jim wasn’t sure what made him ask again, other than the need to distract himself. He didn’t have much hope of a different answer than the last time.

The pause before Chekov’s answer was brief.

“I am here because I did not have as many options as you think I did. Beyond that…well, perhaps I will tell you when you tell me what you are really doing here.”

Jim checked any trace of a reaction, forced himself to keep his eyes on the distant ground rather than turning to look at the kid beside him. He should’ve known better than to push. Chekov was brilliant, and he spent all but a few hours of every day with Jim. It was hardly surprising that he was picking up on things.

But Jim instincts were still telling him not to worry. Not about this, at least. Which was good, because Jim was pretty sure that he was already well maxed out on his worry limits.

“Fair enough,” was all he said, and silence fell again.

Jim lost track of the hours the two of them spent up there, waiting and watching. It was long enough for his eyes to begin to ache from the strain of staring into the dark, for his legs to grow numb from sitting in the same position, for his heart to get heavy in his chest despite his best attempts not to think.

When he felt Chekov beginning to nod off beside him, he sent the kid off to sleep, promising to come down and wake him when Bones arrived. Chekov left, but only after setting a hand on Jim’s shoulder for a moment. The gesture very nearly undid the composure that he’d been so desperately clinging to.

The hours continued to stretch on, seemingly without end. Jim’s tired eyes began to play tricks on him, showing him movement where there was none, glimmers of light in the unbroken darkness.

He forced his brain to shut down, because if he let himself think, he would start to lose it. He found refuge in the blank, watchful mindset that had gotten him through many an interminable stakeout. He didn’t note the fact that Bones was now unquestionably overdue, didn’t consider all of the reasons why that could be, didn’t imagine what could be happening to him in the moment. He just kept his silent vigil, with nothing but the stars for company.

*****

Jim was woken by the splash of water against his face. He sat up automatically, bewildered and disoriented, and nearly rolled over an edge. He yelped and flailed backward, heart pounding. He landed flat on his back and stretched his arms out at his sides as he tried to remember where he was and why the hell he was getting wet.

As he squinted his eyes against the rain that had started to pour down on him, it came back in a sickening rush.

He hadn’t thought he would be capable of sleep, but his exhausted body must have simply passed out while waiting for Bones to return. He scrambled to his feet and ran to the door, barely pausing to shake the water from his eyes before setting off at a sprint for the medical suite. He knocked hastily on the door and burst through it. He stopped instantly in his tracks, feeling like he’d been kicked in the chest.

The room was as empty undisturbed as it had been the last umpteen times Jim had checked it. He stood motionless for a few seconds, trying to force himself to breathe, and then crossed the room slowly to open the door to the bedroom. He hadn’t really been expecting anything different, but the sight of the second empty room still turned his blood to ice. He stumbled back from the doorway and braced himself against the edge of Bones’ desk. He shut his eyes and forced another breath.

Okay. Okay. Bones was past missing now, and he was a captive of one of the worst men on the planet. And despite his _eight fucking years_ of experience with the CIA, Jim was completely powerless to help him. He’d promised to keep him safe, but all he’d been able to do was stand by and wait for him to be returned.

He couldn’t handle this on his own.

He ran his tongue over the tiny switch on his false molar, the one that would activate his emergency beacon. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about using it, but it was the first time he’d felt like he needed to. One simple flick, and his team would be there within the hour. Scotty could find anyone, anywhere, and Sulu could put strategies together like no one Jim had ever seen. And Spock…Spock could get information out of _anyone_. His team could get to Bones, wherever he was. They could save him. If it wasn’t already too late. If Jim hadn’t waited too long.

He shook his head fiercely. He refused to think like that. It wasn’t too late. It couldn’t be.

But if he activated his beacon, it would mean the end of his mission. His team would storm the compound, and they’d kill or capture anyone who was still there. But that didn’t include Nero at the moment, and Jim’s cover would be permanently blown. Calling in his team now would most likely mean losing any chance he had of bringing down his parents’ murderer. Was he really ready to do that?

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispered aloud. It wasn’t even a question.

He found the edge of the switch with his tongue. He pulled in a deep breath through his nose, bracing himself.

“Well ain’t this just the welcome back party.”

Jim jumped violently and whirled around. Bones was standing in the doorway, looking exhausted but unharmed as he watched Jim with an eyebrow raised.

Jim was rooted in place for a moment, struggling to remember how to breathe again.

“Oh my _god_.”

He strode across the room without another word and tugged Bones into his arms, clinging tight. He could feel himself shuddering slightly as relief intense enough to be near painful crashed through him. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face against Bones’ shoulder. Bones was warm and solid, _whole_.

“Jim, you're soaking wet.”

“What? Oh. _Oh_. Sorry.”

Jim forced himself to loosen his grip, and it felt like part of him ripped away as he pulled back. He couldn’t quite bring himself to let go of Bones’ shoulders yet.

“Are you all right?” he demanded as he swept his gaze over Bones’ body, looking for any injuries.

“I’m fine.” Mercifully, Bones didn’t pull away from him. “Really. Feel like I could sleep for two days, but that’s it.”

He was studying Jim almost as intently as Jim was studying him, but it was unlikely to be for the same reason.

“Nero had a flare-up of symptoms, but he didn’t want to cancel a trip to St. Petersburg that he’d already planned. That meant yours truly got a free trip to Russia.” Bones crossed his arms over his chest. “I take it you were worried.”

“Worried?” Jim repeated weakly. “I almost lost my goddamn _mind_.”

“Huh. Wonder what that must’ve been like.”

The sarcasm in Bones’ tone was more understated than usual, tinged with bitterness. Jim gaped at him, letting his hands drop down to his sides.

“If this was supposed to be some kind of _lesson-_ ”

“It wasn’t,” Bones interrupted with a sigh. He circled around Jim to drop wearily into his desk chair. “I promise you, it wasn’t. I would've told you if I’d had any kind of advanced warning myself, but Nero just showed up and told me we were leaving. I’m sorry you were worried.”

He sighed again and cocked an eyebrow at Jim.

“Although I guess there is something poetic about it all.”

“Poetic,” Jim repeated with a snort. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, feeling suddenly on the verge of collapsing with exhaustion. “Jesus, Bones.”

“I know,” Bones said, quiet. “I _am_ sorry.”

Jim sank heavily onto the edge of Bones’ desk, propping his elbows on his knees and letting his head fall into his hands. He sucked in a deep breath.

“Jesus,” he repeated in a whisper.

A warm hand settled onto Jim’s thigh.

“Hey.” Jim looked up to see Bones leaning towards him, eyes serious but surprisingly soft. “I’m all right, Jim.”

Jim just stared at him for a long moment, convincing himself. He nodded. Bones gave him the faintest hint of a smile and nodded as well, sitting back a little. Several silent seconds later, Jim registered the fact that Bones’ hand was still resting on his leg. He looked down, and the hand disappeared almost instantly.

“So,” Jim said quickly, anxious to avoid an awkward moment. “St. Petersburg, huh?”

“Yeah. I’d check it off my bucket list, if I actually had one, and if it would in any way include a trip to a freezing cold city that gets two hours of sunlight per day.”

“I’m sure you just caught it in a bad season,” Jim said, finally beginning to regain some of his cheer as he listened to the usual griping.

“Yeah, well, if it has a good season, I don’t want to see it.” Bones glanced down at his own shirt, and then frowned at Jim. “ _Why_ are you soaking wet?”

Jim had all but forgotten about that again. He shifted in place.

“I, uh, may have slept on the roof last night,” he said. “My alarm clock was a torrential downpour.”

Bones snorted and shook his head. He didn’t comment though, and in the silence, Jim suddenly became aware of the sound of the ticking clock. He looked up, stomach dropping when he saw the time. He swore.

“I’m late,” he said, sliding to the floor. “I should’ve been in the computer room with Chekov two hours ago.”

Bones stood as well.

“Are you going to be all right?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about me,” Jim dismissed as he headed for the door.

He paused, turned back. He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t find the words. He just stared at Bones for a long moment, allowing himself one last look for reassurance that he really was still there, still whole and as safe as he could be here in the lion’s den.

“I’ll stop by again tonight,” he said finally, and ducked outside without waiting for a response.

When he got to the computer room two minutes later, he saw that his monitors had all been booted up already, his access software up and running.

“He just slipped away to the restroom, he will be back in-” Chekov broke off as he actually looked up and saw who he was talking to.

Jim stared at the younger man. Chekov had covered for him, for two whole hours, without being asked, without knowing just what he was covering for. Jim wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“Pavel…”

“He is safe?” Chekov asked softly.

Jim nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, he is.”

Chekov smiled. He gestured to Jim’s computer.

“Then welcome back from your restroom break,” he said. “I believe you were in the middle of hacking Mossad.”


	8. Chapter 8

As promised, Jim returned to Bones’ suite that evening. He found Bones stretched out on one of his own exam tables, hands behind his head, frowning up at the ceiling. He didn’t so much as twitch when Jim walked in.

“You look like you should be playing something folksy on a harmonica, or bouncing a pebble off the wall,” Jim said.

Bones snorted but still didn’t move.

“If you bring me a spoon, I’ll start tunneling my way out of here,” he said.

“You jest, but I believe you’re stubborn enough to actually do it.” Jim paused for a moment just to look at Bones, to appreciate the sight of him safely within reach again.

“I brought you something.”

Bones finally sat up to look at him. He raised an eyebrow.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said.

“Okay, so I brought you something a few days ago, but since you went on vacation without me, I couldn’t give it to you then.”

Jim walked to Bones’ desk and pulled open the bottom drawer, where he’d stashed the whiskey that he’d brought with him the day Bones went missing. He lifted the bottle and shook it, effectively cutting off Bones’ sputtered protests over his involuntary trip to St. Petersburg being called a vacation.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, climbing off the exam table and striding forward to snatch the bottle from Jim.

“You probably don’t want to know.”

Bones gave Jim a suspicious look.

“It wasn’t from that big Neanderthal that smells like cats, was it?” he asked.

Jim choked back a laugh.

“Nah, all that guy had was schnapps.”

“Then I don’t care.”

Bones unscrewed the cap and grabbed an alcohol swab from his supply cabinet to wipe off the rim of the bottle. Jim watched him, lips twitching and eyebrow raised.

“You do understand that there’s alcohol already in the whiskey, right?” he asked. “You don’t have to apply extra.”

“You bring me a half-empty bottle and tell me I don’t want to know where the first half went, you’d damn well better believe I’m going to sanitize it before I start drinking from it.”

Jim shook his head, giving up on trying to hide his grin.

“I’ve seen you drink bourbon out of a bottle you found next to a dumpster on your way home at two in the morning.”

“Yeah well, first of all, I was a broke medical student at the time. And whatever may have been on that bottle couldn’t’ve been as bad as terrorist cooties.”

“Terrorist cooties?” Jim repeated.

“Terrorist cooties.” Bones took a swig of the whiskey and closed his eyes. The noise he made was practically indecent. “Good God.”

“Worth the risk of terrorist cooties?” Jim asked. Bones just held the bottle out to him, and he felt his smile fade. “I can’t, Bones.”

Bones looked confused for just a moment, before his expression twisted into a grimace.

“Would you believe I almost forgot why you’re here?” he asked. He clambered back up onto his exam table and took another swig of whiskey.

Jim wasn’t quite sure what the appropriate response to that was. But then Bones flapped a hand at him and patted the surface of the exam table at his side.

Oddly relieved, Jim accepted the silent invitation. He hoisted himself up beside Bones, leaving a careful inch of space between them. The silence that filled that space wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t comfortable either.

“Tell me about your trip?” Jim invited eventually.

“That you asking, or the spy?”

Jim blinked. He turned to Bones, whose gaze was fixed on the label of the bottle in his hand.

“Do you…” Jim shook his head. “Bones, you know that this isn’t just another job for me, right? That _you_ aren’t just another job?”

“I don’t know.” Jim flinched, and Bones’ knuckles whitened on the bottle. “Yeah, I- I guess I do. I do. I just…Christ, Jim, I’m just so damn tired of this. All of this.”

Jim knew Bones hadn’t meant it as an accusation, but it felt like one.

“I know,” he said, soft. “I know, Bones.”

He ached to offersome kind of reassurance, but he’d already promised all he could. It would never feel like enough.

“St. Petersburg was beautiful, Jim.” Bones said after a long moment. He was still looking at the whiskey bottle, but he hadn’t taken another drink. “It was like another world. And I spent every second I was there feeling like property.”

Jim winced again. He longed to grab the bottle from Bones’ hand, to allow himself some of its numbing effect. But it would only be pouring alcohol on the smoldering embers of his guilt, and the result would not be pleasant.

Then Bones seemed to shake himself.

“You’ve been some interesting places,” he said, and the lightness in his tone was deliberate but not entirely forced. He was tired of the grim conversation too. “You have a favorite?”

Jim did have a favorite. It was a tiny studio apartment in Boston. It was furnished in an eclectic jumble that Jim had affectionately called ‘junk store chic’ and decorated with ironically-kept dorm posters and a single ugly fake plant of dubious origin. The wobbly table was always cluttered with medical textbooks and electrical diagrams, wrinkled with inevitable coffee stains. A plastic skeleton stood guard by the creaky door, a gag gift that had never been discarded. The bed in the corner was rarely made, and the scent of its occupants clung warmly to the rumpled sheets. The place was overpriced and under-heated and surrounded by noisy neighbors.

Jim missed it every day.

“South pole,” he said. “I’ve got a thing for penguins.”

He felt Bones’ eyes on him.

“You have not been to the south pole.”

Jim’s lips twitched.

“Hand to God,” he said. “I almost lost my left pinky toe to frostbite.”

He glanced at Bones’ face, and lost the fight with his smile.

“What could you _possibly_ have had to do there?” Bones demanded, incredulous. “There are no _people_ there.”

Jim grimaced and cleared his throat.

“Well actually there are some, but it turned out that I didn’t actually _need_ to be there, per se. My partner, uh, _accidentally_ sent me the wrong coordinates for a rendezvous.”

Bones was still staring at him.

“Accidentally?”

Jim scratched at the back of his neck.

“It was when we were still getting to know each other,” he hedged. “He hadn’t really, uh, gotten used to my personality yet.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Your partner sent you to the south pole because you pissed him off.”

“That’s about the size of it, yeah.”

“I like him already.”

“Nice, Bones.” But Jim was laughing, and so was Bones. It felt nice. Dangerously nice.

“Farthest south I’ve ever been was Florida,” Bones said after a moment. “Joce and I honeymooned in Disney.”

Well, there went some of the nice feelings. Jim had been doing his level best not to think about the woman Bones had loved enough to marry. He didn’t like the jealousy that stabbed at him whenever he did, the regret. He had no right to either.

“ _You_ went to _Disney_?” he asked, his years of training keeping his feelings from his voice. “On purpose?”

“I know, right?” Bones snorted. He took one last drink, and then screwed the cap back on the bottle. “We’re lucky there were no casualties.”

Jim’s smile was only a little bit forced as he pictured Bones surrounded by overenthusiastic princesses and shrieking children.

Silence fell between them again. There was no tension in it this time, but Jim was more on edge.

“What’s she like?” Jim grimaced as soon as the question escaped him, but he didn’t try to take it back. Some masochistic part of him really did want to know.

“She?”

“Your ex-wife.”

And then Bones was tense too. But after a moment of incredibly loud silence, he just let out a breath. He rolled the whiskey bottle in his hand, but he didn’t take another drink. Despite what it might have been comforting to pretend, he knew full well he couldn’t afford to let his inhibitions slide.

“She’s too good for someone who could never love her back.”

*****

The conversation was deliberately innocuous after that. Despite Jim’s attempts at whatever lightheartedness he could muster, Bones only seemed to grow more solemn as the night wore on. Jim couldn't blame him, but it did make him ache. Time was, he could always cheer Bones up after a shitty day. But time wasn’t, and it hadn't just been a shitty day.

“I should go,” he said finally, when it had gotten too late to justify staying as a normal visit. “I'm sure you could use some rest.” He slid down from the exam table. “I'll stop by again tomorrow, okay?”

He was almost to the door when a quiet voice from behind stopped him.

“Jim.”

He turned back. Bones wasn't looking at him, but rather at the whiskey bottle he was turning around and around in his hands, his features pinched into a frown.

“What is it?” Jim prompted when nothing else was forthcoming.

It still took several long seconds for Bones to respond.

“After you left this morning, Ayel came to find me.”

Jim’s stomach dropped.

“Are you all right?” he asked at once, striding back to Bones’ side.

“I’m fine.” Bones waved him off. “He took me to that stupid refrigerator, the one you and I met in that one night.” Another pause. “He wanted me to look at the body inside.”

Jim’s stomach lurched. Just like that, he understood.

“He wanted you to tell him how the guy died.” It wasn’t a question.

Bones had stopped fiddling with the bottle. He stared at his motionless hands.

“I told him it looked like a pulmonary embolism,” he said. “Natural causes.” He finally met Jim’s eyes. “I was lying.”

Jim found himself trapped in a piercing hazel gaze. His heart felt heavy in his chest.

He’d been expecting this. He’d been on alert since being caught in Nero’s office, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The death had been kept quiet so far, apparently because Ayel had been waiting to see whether or not it was a result of foul play, but the fallout had always been inevitable.

The dead man’s face flickered through his mind. He could still feel the fluttering beat of carotid arteries beneath his thumbs, the slump of all-too-dead weight in his arms. His fingers twitched unconsciously into fists.

But he held Bones’ gaze.

“I’m sorry you had to do that for me,” he said quietly, because it was the only thing he _could_ apologize for.

“Just- did you kill him because of me?”

Jim hesitated. Bones gritted his teeth and looked away.

“When you went missing,” Jim began, throat dry. “I was looking for you all over the compound. That guard caught me in Nero’s office. I tried to talk my way out of it, but-” Jim shook his head, fists tightening. “I had no choice, Bones.”

Bones said nothing. Jim couldn't stand the silence; it felt like an accusation. After everything, was this what would finally cost him Bones for good? Bones, the healer, the pacifist, the treasurer of life.

“I had no choice,” Jim said again, a touch of pleading in his voice this time.

“I believe you.” When Bones finally looked up again, there was a new weight in his eyes. “I do. And it shouldn't…I shouldn't be…I guess I just never thought about it before. That you're a killer now.”

Jim couldn't help it; he flinched. Bones tracked the motion, and he grimaced.

“I'm sorry,” he said gruffly. “I didn't mean…”

“No, you’re right.” After a moment of hesitation, Jim settled onto the exam table beside Bones, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re right, Bones. I am a killer. And that…that weighs on me every day. I only kill bad guys, sure, but that doesn't mean I get to walk away without consequences. And I wouldn't want to. Because if I did…” He shook his head again. “If I did, I wouldn't get to call myself one of the good guys anymore.”

He could feel Bones’ eyes on him, but he didn't look up. He didn’t want Bones to have to see the ghosts in his eyes. And he didn’t want to see whatever disgust or condemnation or, God forbid, _fear_ might be in Bones’.

He didn’t realize he'd been clenching his fists again until warm hands curled around his own and eased them open. He still didn't look up, but it was for an entirely different reason now. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of Bones’ fingers twined with his own.

“I know you, Jim.” There was quiet conviction in Bones’ low voice. “I thought I didn't, for a long time. But I know you. And if I know anything, I know that you'll never stop being one of the good guys.”

Jim swallowed hard, his eyes suddenly stinging. He wasn't sure what he'd done to earn that, but it was a greater gift than he would have anticipated. He squeezed Bones’ hands, unable to voice his gratitude and knowing that he didn’t have to. Bones returned the pressure without a word.

But after a minute, the quiet that had started out peaceful began to grow charged with something. Jim was very much aware of Bones’ hands still wrapped around his own, Bones’ body pressed to his side. He knew he wasn’t the only one.

Bones cleared his throat and disentangled his fingers from Jim’s. He moved them instead to Jim’s wrist, probing it gently.

“How’s this feeling?” he asked, all casual professionalism. “Did your…your fight make the sprain any worse?”

The sprained wrist that had brought Jim to Bones in the first place hadn’t bothered him in weeks. Which Bones knew.

He sighed.

“It’s fine, Bones,” he said. “ _I’m_ fine.”

Physically, at least. In a different time, a different situation, Bones might have called him on his bullshit. But now he just nodded, his hands lingering for just one more instant before withdrawing safely to his own lap.

Something in Jim ached at the loss, but he couldn't dwell on it. There was one more thing that couldn't go unaddressed.

“Bones…” He hesitated. “I honestly don't know how all of this is going to end. But I do know that there's a damn good chance it's going to be messy, and ugly, and bloody. And I will do whatever the hell it takes to keep you safe through it, but I can't make promises for anyone else.”

Bones folded his arms across his stomach with a sigh.

“I know.” There was weary resignation in his voice, but no hesitation. “They’ve made their choices, Jim. Whatever you have to do, I won't think less of you for it.”

Jim let out a long, slow breath.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Bones said nothing. The silence that fell was heavy, but there was comfort in it, somehow. This time, it didn’t grow tense.

Jim didn't want to leave things like this, but there was nothing more to say, really. There was no making this better, not until it was over. Which it would never be, if people started to get suspicious of him and the amount of time he spent away from the others.

“You gonna be all right tonight?” he asked.

“Yeah, go on.” Bones seemed to shake himself, and he waved a dismissive hand at Jim. “Lord knows you need the sleep. You look like shit.”

Now that, Jim believed.

“Thanks, Bones,” he said wryly anyway, sliding down from the exam table. He headed for the exit again, and again, Bones’ voice made him pause in the doorway.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Jim.”

The words brought a small, genuine smile to Jim’s face. He glanced over his shoulder, and his expression was probably too soft, too open, but he couldn't help it.

“See you tomorrow, Bones.”

*****

Even after Bones’ safe return, Jim found himself more distracted than he could afford. No matter what he was doing, part of his thoughts were always a floor above. All of the worst-case scenarios that his panicked brain had thought up when Bones was missing refused to go away even now that he was back. The urge to go check on him was almost constant, and Jim’s ears were constantly straining for any mention of him among the guards.

It could only make him sloppy, and it wasn’t helping anyone. The CIA taught its operatives how to control their emotions, but their best efforts hadn’t been enough to handle the effect Bones had on Jim. So he had to be proactive.

Two days after Bones got back, Jim stopped by the training room on his way to the medical suite. The supplies he grabbed made him more conspicuous than usual, and twice he had to duck into empty rooms to dodge patrolling guards, but he made it without incident. He pushed his way into the outer sickroom to find Bones sitting at his desk, flipping through a medical journal. He looked up as Jim entered, raising an eyebrow.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, nodding at Jim’s burden.

“A soft landing.”

Jim crossed the room and entered the bedroom, finally dropping the bundled mat onto the floor. He heard the scraping of Bones’ chair as he stood.

“A soft landing?” he repeated dubiously, following Jim.

“Well, softer than just the carpet anyway.” Jim unrolled the mat. “A thicker one would’ve been better, but this’ll work.”

“Work for _what_?”

Jim straightened to face Bones. He gave his friend a bright grin.

“Your self defense lessons.”

Bones fixed him with an incredulous look.

“You can’t be serious.”

Jim let his smile fade. It had been forced anyway.

“Dead serious, Bones.”

“It’s you and me in a base with a couple dozen terrorists,” Bones said, crossing his arms over his chest. Jim did his best not to grimace at the reminder. “If it comes down to a fistfight, a couple of lessons aren’t going to help much.”

“I’m not thinking about all of them against you,” Jim said. He’d been expecting some resistance, and he had no intention of backing down. “I’m thinking about one or two who might forget how scared they are of Nero’s anger and decide that it’s worth messing with you. I’m thinking about Nero’s enemies on another one of those trips you could get taken on, and you getting caught in the crossfire of a power grab. I’m thinking about the shitshow this could turn into at any minute, especially when I’m finally getting you out of here.”

_I’m thinking that if something happens to you, it’ll be the end of me._

“You know I can look after myself,” Bones said, although his tone had grown a little less combative.

“I know you can kick ass in a bar fight,” Jim replied. “But people aren’t trying to actually kill you in bar fights-” Bones snorted, and Jim amended his argument. “People _usually_ aren’t trying to actually kill you in bar fights, and they’re not trained killers.”

Bones still looked unconvinced.

“I’m a doctor, not a fighter.”

“Bones.” Jim took a step forward, holding that reluctant gaze steadily. “The moment I saw you here, my mission became about two things instead of one. I know this place, I know the people in it, and the thought of you in the middle of it all makes me sick. And when you went missing-” Jim stopped himself, knowing that he was venturing into unwelcome territory. Bones already knew what him going missing had driven Jim to do. He didn't need to hear more, didn’t _want_ to hear more.

Jim took a breath. “There are a thousand things I can’t control in this situation,” he went on. “I can’t protect you nearly as well as I’d like. But I can help you be able to protect yourself. Please, Bones. Let me do this for you.”

Bones studied him for a moment, his expression giving nothing away.

“All right,” he said finally. He paused, looking like he wanted to say something else, but then he just shook his head slightly and cleared his throat. “All right,” he said again. “How do you want to do this?”

Jim had spent several long months in training at the CIA, but they didn’t have that kind of time. He had to condense the most important lessons, especially the ones geared for defense. He started with the basics, demonstrating the most effective kicks and jabs. Some of it Bones already knew, but it made Jim feel better to go over it anyway.

“Now, someone might try to grab you from behind,” he said. He positioned himself behind Bones, but then he hesitated. “Uh, I’m gonna have to…”

“Just do it.” Jim couldn’t see Bones’ face, but his tone had gotten a little stiff.

Jim squared his shoulders and reached for Bones, looping one arm carefully around his neck and the other around his torso, trapping his arms. He could feel the tension in every line of Bones’ body, and it made something in his chest ache. Things had been so easy between them once, so natural. Simple. They’d fit together comfortably, like they’d been designed for each other. And now they were both stiff and uncomfortable, guarded.

“Now, the first thing you’ve got to do is tuck your chin into the crook of my elbow, so that I can’t put pressure on your neck,” he said, hoping that keeping things professional would help put Bones more at ease. “Do that the second you feel someone grab you, or it’ll be too late. Once you do that though, you’ve got more power than you think you do.”

“That’s not saying much.”

The words were so quiet that Jim wouldn’t have caught them had he not been so close to Bones. He didn’t know how to respond, so he decided to pretend he hadn’t heard.

“From here, you can get me in the ribs, instep, knee, or family jewels.”

Bones huffed out a grudging chuckle, warm breath tickling Jim’s arm.

“These lessons might be growing on me after all,” he said.

Jim grinned, relieved by the joking.

“Yeah well, before you start taking nut shots, just remember that I’m in direct control of your liquor supply.”

“Now that’s just dirty pool.”

Jim’s grin widened.

The mood grew decidedly less awkward as they continued to practice. Bones lost some of his tension, starting to actually get into the lesson. He was a quick study, but Jim had already known that.

It got to the point where Jim nearly forgot why they were there, forgot that eight years separated them from what they’d once had. But he remembered in a hurry when they got to one of the most important lessons.

Jim let Bones throw him down onto the padded mat, but instead of getting up like he had the last four times, he stayed down, stretching out on his back. Bones peered down at him, eyebrows raised.

“Napping on the job?” he asked.

“Demonstrating a technique,” Jim corrected.

“I think I can figure out how to play dead on my own, thanks.”

Jim rolled his eyes, even as a smile threatened.

“That’s definitely a useful skill to have in your arsenal, but not the one I had in mind,” he said. “Straddle me.”

The amused almost-smile that had been brightening Bones’ expression vanished at once.

“Jim-” he warned.

“I’m not trying anything here, Bones,” Jim swore, his stomach tightening. “But I need you to know how to get someone off you.”

This was the one lesson that he wasn’t willing to compromise on. Bones hesitated for another moment, but then he strode to Jim’s side and stepped over him. He sank to his knees, slotting Jim’s torso between them. His expression was blank, but the beginnings of a flush were visible creeping up his neck. Once again, Jim could feel the tension in his body. It saddened him, but since there was nothing he could do about it, he elected to ignore it.

“Okay, so if someone has you like this, there’s a couple ways it could go,” he said. “We’ll start with what to do if they go for your neck.”

He waited for Bones to take the hint and put his hands on his throat. But Bones just stared down at him, eyes dark and unfathomable.

“If you want to know if I’ve been raped, just ask,” he said quietly.

It was Jim’s turn to go tense, his heart clenching and his stomach turning to lead. Slowly, he propped himself up on his elbows, forcing himself to hold Bones’ gaze. He wet lips that had gone suddenly dry.

“Were you?”

“No.”

Jim closed his eyes and let his head drop back, relief surging through him in a wave strong enough to take his breath away.

“I don’t think Nero swings that way,” Bones went on, voice still low. “And any of his men who do are too scared of him to risk something like that with his personal doctor.”

“Okay.” Jim swallowed down the tightness in his throat, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes again. “Okay. Good. But you still need to learn this-”

He broke off. Bones was watching him strangely, something soft and vulnerable in his gaze. Jim found himself holding his breath, his lungs not cooperating for an entirely different reason now.

“I’m still here, darlin’,” Bones murmured in a tone that Jim hadn’t thought he would ever hear again, one that hurtled him back eight years to the most honest, intimate moments the two of them had shared. “I’m all right.”

Jim swallowed hard again, staring up at Bones. Slowly, without conscious thought, he lifted his hands to Bones’ face. He half expected his former lover to tense again and pull away, but instead he leaned into Jim’s touch. Still hardly daring to breathe, Jim cradled Bones’ face carefully, tracing his thumbs over his cheeks.

Bones’ eyes slipped closed for a moment, and when they opened, they held something that sent a shot of electric heat punching through Jim’s gut. He held perfectly still as Bones leaned toward him slowly, still watching him with breathtaking intensity. It had been so long since Bones looked at him like this, but Jim’s body remembered. His heart began to race, heat spreading through him in anticipation of what came next.

Bones was so close now that Jim could count the flecks of gold in his eyes, could taste the warmth of his breath. Instinctively, automatically, he leaned up to meet him.

But then Bones’ expression shuttered and he froze, stiffening under Jim’s touch.

“Hey, Bones,” he said, his tone flat. Jim stared at him in confusion. “I’m sorry to do things this way, but it’s probably better for both of us. Listen, things just haven’t been working out.”

A cold, sick feeling curled in Jim’s stomach as he realized what Bones was reciting.

“I’ve been kidding myself these last two years, thinking that I could ever have a life with you. That’s just not who I am, and I’m sick of pretending.”

“Bones,” Jim whispered, mouth dry and throat aching. “What’re you-?”

“Reminding myself,” Bones told him fiercely. He pushed himself up and paced several steps from Jim. “Reminding myself of why this is _not happening_.”

Jim stood as well, and it felt like his body weighed a thousand pounds.

“You memorized it.” It shouldn’t have come as such a revelation. Bones had already told Jim how many times he’d read that damn email.

“You wrote it.”

“I thought-” Jim’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I told you, I thought maybe if I acted like an asshole, you’d be able to get over me faster.”

“I know.” Bones stayed still for a long moment, still facing away from Jim. Then he sighed and turned.

“I know,” he repeated. “And I’ve forgiven, Jim. I have. But I can’t forget. And I sure as hell can’t make the same mistake twice.”

Jim accepted that with a nod, not trusting his voice. He and Bones watched each other for a long, tense moment.

“I could’ve stayed.”

The words poured out of Jim in a rush, and once they’d been spoken, he realized just how much they needed to be said. Bones deserved the truth, the whole truth. The truth that Jim hadn’t fully acknowledged until just now.

“What?”

“My boss, he did tell me how hard what I do is on relationships. He did tell me that it would be best for everyone if I made a choice. But in the end, he left it up to me. I could have stayed with you and still accepted his job offer.”

Hurt flashed through Bones’ eyes. It was brief, covered quickly by a blank mask, but Jim had seen its depth.

“So why didn’t you?” Bones asked, his voice level, empty.

Jim paused for a moment before answering, making sure his own voice would be steady.

“You remember the night of Mom’s funeral, up in my old treehouse?” he asked.

Bones nodded once.

“You’d gone up there to clean it out and stock it with my favorite liquor. And when we got up there, and you were holding onto me…I swear, Bones, it was like the whole world was in that moment. And I’d been in love with you for years, but that night I think I finally understood that. I mean _really_ understood it, like felt it down to my soul, or whatever. Like loving you had become part of who I was rather than something I did.”

“And that seemed like the best time to cut and run?” Bones asked with more than a trace of bitterness.

“I’d just buried my mom, Bones,” Jim whispered, eyes burning. “I was right smack in the middle of experiencing the absolute worst part of loving someone. And…and I’d spent my whole life watching what it could do to a person. Mom, she did her best, but she never really healed from what happened to my father. So when I realized you were it…I panicked. And sure, I rationalized. I’ve _been_ rationalizing, for the last eight years. But that was the real reason. I get that now. I was scared of how much I loved you, and I bailed.”

Jim fell silent in the wake of his confession. The words had left him feeling strangely lighter and heavier at the same time. Bones just watched him, expression flickering too fast to read, the long seconds dragging on. Then-

“Okay.”

Jim blinked. He wasn’t sure just what reaction he’d been anticipating, but that hadn’t been one of the possibilities considered.

“Okay?” he repeated blankly.

“Yeah, okay.” Bones crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you want from me here, Jim? I appreciate you finally telling me the truth, I guess, but surely you can’t have expected it to change anything? I meant it when I said I was over you.” His jaw tightened, and he looked down. “Just let me be over you.”

Jim held himself still as he took that one. It was for the best, really. There was no version of this situation in which a relationship between them was even remotely a good idea. It was for the best.

Right.

“Okay,” he said again. “Okay, Bones. I’m sorry.”

Bones’ expression softened infinitesimally.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he said, sounding weary. “In fact, I think I finally get it.”

Jim waited, but neither of them seemed to have anything left to say.

“I should go.”

Bones didn’t disagree with him. Jim stooped to collect the training mat he’d brought with him, and then he walked out into the sickroom.

“I appreciate the lessons,” Bones said before he could reach the outer door. “Really.”

Jim paused to look back at him.

“There’s more where that came from, when you’re ready,” he promised.

Bones nodded, and Jim left.

*****

Despite the awkwardness of his last visit, Jim had no intention of letting a day go by without checking in with Bones. But just as he was powering down his systems for the night and preparing to leave the computer room, the door swung open and Ayel appeared. His face was serious, and Jim braced himself automatically. But he wasn’t under suspicion, or about to be given a reprimand. Just the opposite, in fact.

“I’ve got a new job for you.”

Jim hid his surprise. Usually he got his assignments from a trigger-happy man named Olsen.

“I assume it’s a priority,” he said.

“Highest there is. I need you to hack into the computer system of a company called Botany Bay, run by a man named-”

“Khan Noonien Singh,” Jim interrupted. “I’ve heard of them.”

More than heard of them. Khan had been on the CIA’s radar for almost a year now. Botany Bay was, on its surface, a legitimate business, but for every honest deal it made, there was another one that chipped away at the already tenuous stability of the global economy. Khan’s endgame seemed to be the collapse of the entire world’s economic infrastructure. He no doubt saw it as an opportunity to rebuild the system, with himself as its dictator.

“Good. Then you’ll know where to start. Nero wants any and all information from Khan’s computers. Once you’ve got it, he wants those computers wiped. Got it?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it, but…” Jim studied Ayel. “I mean, you know what you’re asking might not be possible from here, right?”

“I guess we won’t find out until you start, will we?” Ayel asked. He crossed his arms and planted his feet, looking pointedly at Jim.

Jim swallowed, but took the hint and returned to his station. It was going to be a long night.

*****

The next morning found Jim standing outside Bones’ suite, his eyes burning with tiredness and his stomach feeling like lead. He rapped out his signature knock on the door and pushed it open, hoping that it wasn’t too early for Bones to be awake.

It wasn’t. Bones was sitting at his desk, frowning down at a set of papers. He looked drawn and pale, like he hadn’t gotten much sleep either. Jim suspected that was his fault. For a moment he could only stare at Bones, feeling sick.

Bones looked up at him, and his expression shifted instantly from guarded to concerned.

“Everything all right?” he asked, setting aside his papers.

“I…nothing- nothing’s _wrong_ , exactly, but-” Jim looked Bones up and down, chest tightening. How the hell was he supposed to do this?

“Hey.” Bones stood and grabbed Jim by the arm, fear clouding his face. “What _is_ it?”

“I’m going to have to leave you for a couple of days,” Jim said, the words burning his throat on the way out. After everything he’d promised, he was abandoning Bones _again_ , leaving him defenseless.

“That’s it?” At Jim’s startled look, Bones huffed out a relieved breath and let go of his arm. “Jim, I was on my own here for six months and I managed just fine. I think I can handle a couple of days.”

Jim blinked at him. Bones’ reaction was so utterly opposite from what his own had been that it took a moment to process. He supposed that he was glad that Bones wasn’t scared, but it did sting a bit that his presence apparently meant so little to him.

“You finally get your time off, then?” he asked before Jim could say anything.

“Not yet. I’m actually heading out on a job.”

Bones’ eyebrows drew together, his relief and hope quickly fading into alarmed suspicion.

“What kind of job?” he demanded. “You’re their hacker. You’re supposed to work from here.”

“And I usually do. But one of Nero’s rivals is almost as paranoid about security as he is. His computer system is impossible to access remotely. Believe me, I’ve tried. In order to do what Nero’s asking of me, I’ve got to have direct access to the main hardwired system. Which is in India.”

Bones was staring at Jim, his expression darkening into a glare.

“And how, exactly, do you plan on getting direct access to the main system?” he wanted to know. “Asking nicely?”

Jim grimaced, guessing about how well what he was about to say would go over.

“We have to break into Khan’s base of operations,” he admitted. He decided to leave out everything that was going to entail. “Ayel’s got a plan-”

“Oh, well if he’s got a _plan_!” Bones snarled. He began to pace in agitation. “You’re seriously telling me that you’re about to go break into a terrorist’s sanctum sanctorum with nothing but a bunch of other terrorists to back you up?”

“Don’t worry about that. I know how to look after myself; I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t.” Bones came to a halt directly in front of Jim and poked him hard in the chest, eyes flashing. “Don’t treat me like an idiot, or some child you have to placate. I’ve seen the aftermath of jobs like this. I’ve tried and failed to save the aftermath of jobs like this. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

He delivered the words with what was probably supposed to be anger, but his face was too pale and his voice a little too unsteady to sell it. Jim’s gut twisted. Even now, he couldn’t stop hurting Bones. But part of him, a tiny, selfish part, was glad that Bones still cared enough to be worried.

“It’s possible,” he admitted reluctantly. “It is. But I promise you, I’m good at what I do. And I will do absolutely everything in my power to come back in one piece.”

“And you honestly think that’s good enough?” Bones jabbed his finger into Jim’s chest again. “You know what they did, with that guard you killed?”

Of all the things Jim had expected Bones to bring up in this argument, that hadn’t been one of them. He didn’t have an answer, and Bones didn’t wait for one.

“They brought his body to some shitty motel, dumped him in the bed, stuck a lit cigarette in his hand, and bailed.”

Jim stared.

“How do you-?”

“They talk around me like I’m invisible,” Bones snapped, waving a hand. “But that’s not the point. Six years, that guy had been working for Nero, and all he got when he died was a shitty funeral pyre in a place that probably rented by the hour. How do you think they’ll disguise your death, Jim? Mugging gone wrong? Idiot tourist in a car accident? Do you think they’ll bother bringing your body back for me to look at, or will they just drop you in the nearest gutter and call it a day?”

Jim gritted his teeth. Bones’ eyes were blazing, but he forced himself to meet them.

“This is a mission, not a death sentence, Bones,” he said.

“You honestly think there’s enough of a difference to make me feel better?“

“It’s the best I can do.”

Bones shook his head and resumed his pacing. Jim watched him for a moment, memorizing the sight of him. He took a breath.

“But in case it’s not good enough, I want you to have something.”

Jim pulled a plastic bag from his pocket and held it out to Bones, who halted again and took it. He squinted suspiciously at its contents: a black and grey lump of electronics the size of a Tic-Tac.

“What is it?”

“It’s an SOS beacon,” Jim told him. “There’s a switch on the side. Activate it, and my team will come for you. They won’t know it’s you they’re coming for, but just keep your hands up when you see them coming, and say the word ‘Yorktown.’ They’ll keep you safe.”

Bones stared at the tiny device, and then back up at Jim.

“You’ve had this the whole time?”

Jim grimaced. He’d been afraid of this.

“Yes, and believe me, I’ve come close to activating it just to get you out of here.” God, how close he’d come. “But it was too risky without a good reason, and I-”

“This is the only one you have?” Bones interrupted.

Jim blinked.

“Well, yeah. I mean I wasn’t exactly expecting to run into someone else who would need one.”

Bones’ lips compressed and he held the bag back out to Jim.

“I don’t want this.”

Jim bit back a sigh.

“I know you’re worried about Joanna,” he said. “But if you use that, Nero will have no idea that the alarm came from you. He’d have no reason to hurt her.”

“Joanna’s not the only one I’m worried about, you goddamn moron!” Bones snapped, clenching his fist around the beacon. “What if you need help, and none comes because you gave me this?”

Jim hesitated, his eyes on Bones’ face.

“I’d rather have that happen than the other way around,” he said simply.

Bones’ expression flickered, crumpled for just an instant before his jaw clenched tight. He shook his head again and tried to return the beacon once more.

“Goddamnit,” he growled, thrusting the bag against Jim’s chest when he refused to take it. “Will you just-”

“Bones.” The word was soft, gentle in the face of Bones’ wrath. It said as much as the shouting had.

Jim felt Bones’ fingers tighten in his shirt, watched him take a shaky breath. He waited until Bones met his gaze. He knew that all that needed to be said could be read there.

“You asshole,” Bones whispered, the fight drained from him. “If you die out there, I’ll never forgive you.”

Jim offered him a sad smile.

“Add it to the list of things I shouldn’t be forgiven for,” he said. “As long as it doesn’t include abandoning you on your own again, I can live with it.”

Probably not the best choice of phrase, but it was out there now. He stepped back, so that Bones’ hand fell from his chest, still clutching the bag with the emergency beacon.

“Promise you’ll use that if you have to,” he said, nodding at the device. “Promise me, Bones.”

Bones was glaring at Jim with a ferocity that would have had lesser men trembling. But his eyes were a touch too bright to match the anger.

“I promise.”

*****

Jim was due in the garage in ten minutes, but he still headed back downstairs after leaving Bones. There was one last thing he had to take care of.

Chekov was sitting on his bed when Jim got to their room, reading what looked like a sci-fi novel in Russian. He closed it when Jim entered. His frown said that he’d already heard about the mission to India.

“You must be careful, Ben,” he said before Jim could even open his mouth. “Khan is one of Mr. Nero’s smartest clients. He will be anticipating retribution for his disloyalty, and he will be prepared for your arrival. And these men you are going with, they won’t care about protecting you.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to protect myself,” Jim said, touched by the concern. Chekov still looked dubious, but Jim didn’t give him the time for further warnings. “Listen, I have a favor to ask.”

“What is it?”

Jim sighed and crossed the room. He sat on the edge of Chekov’s bed and looked his friend in the eye. This was a bad idea.

“I’d like you to keep an eye on Dr. McCoy while I’m gone. He doesn’t even have to know you’re there, just- just if someone, you know, like Thompson gets hurt and needs to go see him, or-”

“Ben.” Chekov’s soft voice cut through what had been devolving into rather anxious rambling. His earnest blue eyes held Jim’s. “You do not have to ask.”

A heavy breath escaped Jim, his shoulders slumping. It wasn’t much, leaving a skinny nineteen-year-old economics genius to protect the most precious thing in his life, but it felt better than leaving Bones with nothing but a tiny chunk of circuitry.

“Thank you, Pavel,” he said, standing.

“Thank me by coming back.”


	9. Chapter 9

No matter how many times he did it, or how sore his knees got, the eight year old boy in Jim never got tired of sneaking through air ducts. It was the one thing about his job that made him feel most like an actual spy. Which Uhura had informed him on more than one occasion was ridiculous, but ask him if he cared.

Still, no matter how cool it may have made him feel, Jim _did_ get tired of being shot at.

Riley apparently felt the same way. He yelped and tried to scramble back from the opening to the air vent he’d been about to drop through as the clang of bullets echoed deafeningly around him and Jim. Since he’d been crawling in front, this meant that Jim narrowly avoided taking a boot to the face. Muttering a few muffled curses, he shoved Riley out of the vent and dropped down after him, wincing as more bullets whizzed past him to ricochet off the walls in a deadly storm.

They’d landed in a server room, that much at least going according to plan, and they ducked for cover behind one of the heavy banks of computers as Riley shot back and Jim reached automatically for a gun he wasn’t carrying. He gritted his teeth, cursing Ben Finney’s complete lack of firearms experience. He hated being helpless in a fight, especially when he only had one other, extremely shady, person watching his back.

See, what Jim hadn’t told Bones was that hacking Khan’s computer was only half of the mission. The other half was taking out the man himself. Jim hadn’t been the only one who could figure out which part was going to be more difficult and dangerous. So even though Nero had sent a team of eight to Mumbai, the other six were currently several floors above them in the offices of Botany Bay, executing their part of the plan.

Fortunately, Riley was a good shot, and it wasn’t long before the firefight was over. When the bullets had stopped flying, two of Khan’s security guards lay dead on the floor.

“What the hell was that?” Riley demanded as Jim began to hunt for a terminal to give him access to the servers.

“That was what happens when you crawl through a metal air duct in steel-toed boots and think that guards aren’t going to hear you,” Jim snapped. He hadn’t noticed his partner’s unfortunate footwear until it had been just too damn late.

He found a port to connect the laptop he’d brought with him and started the arduous process of hacking into the system.

“Not that!” Riley snarled. “You shoved me out of the vent!”

“Oh, come on.” Jim scowled at the screen as his first approach was shut down. The clock had started ticking the moment the guards had seen them, and they didn’t have time for this to be difficult. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Whatever. Push me into a hail of bullets again, and I’ll make you eat one of them.”

Jim ignored the grousing man and focused on his task. He finally gained access to the system and started sorting through data. Everything that related personally to Kahn, he downloaded onto the ultra high capacity hard drive he’d been given before leaving Narada. Everything else got uploaded to a special cloud account that Olsen had set up for him.

It was a process that took longer to run than it did to set up, so Jim had time to discreetly probe the system, looking for information that might be useful to the CIA. Riley didn’t know a keyboard from a motherboard, and he was busy watching for more guards, so with no one to monitor his work, Jim was free to pull together a packet of relevant data and files to send to Scotty. He couldn’t put any additional message or identifying information in it in case it was intercepted, but Scotty would know who it was from.

With that done, he started systematically wiping everything once it had been copied onto the drive. He pulled up several security feeds as his programs ran, trying to get a sense of what else was happening in the rest of the Mumbai office building. He spotted the other members of the Narada team standing in an expensive-looking waiting room, and he frowned, instincts beginning to tingle.

The plan itself had been beautifully straightforward. Khan was, after all, an apparently legitimate businessman, so Ayel had simply booked an appointment with him. He wasn’t expecting to be able to keep his guns, but he and his men were plenty deadly without the weapons. A broken neck, a crushed larynx, hell, even a letter opener through the eye would get the job done. It was just ballsy enough to actually have a chance of working.

But if there was anything Jim had learned from working for the CIA, it was that even the simplest plans could go sideways in a heartbeat. Ayel and his merry band of thugs had evidently been delayed somehow; they should have already been in Khan’s office. If they didn’t get in to see him before the general alarm went up from Jim and Riley’s arrival, they were all in trouble.

“Be ready to get your ass in gear,” Jim called to Riley without looking away from the screen. “We might have to move in a hurry.”

He got no reply. Riley must still have been sulking. Jim ignored him and focused on removing any trace of his presence from the system now that the data download was complete.

He didn’t realize his mistake until his instincts began to scream at him a moment before the cold barrel of a gun whispered over the back of his neck.

“Remove your hands from the keyboard and turn around slowly,” a clear, English-accented voice ordered.

Jim had never been good at following orders. He whirled around, snatching the gun and turning it back on its owner in an instant. It was a move he’d practiced countless times in training until he could do it in his sleep. (Spock had tested that claim once, in the early days of their partnership. The results were part of the reason they still _had_ a partnership.)

But he wasn’t the only one who could be quick. Even as he raised his newly acquired weapon, the woman he’d taken it from was drawing a second one from her belt and pointing it at him. They both froze, guns leveled at each other, fingers on the triggers.

Jim studied his opponent. The woman was around his age, with sharp blue eyes and fair hair that hung in a short curtain just past her chin. Something about her seemed familiar, but Jim couldn’t spare the time to dwell on why. She was dressed in the blue uniform of Botany Bay’s security, and she held her gun like someone who knew how to use it. A glance behind her showed that she’d already taken down Riley. Jim was a fast enough shot to take her out, but he didn’t like his chances of avoiding catching a bullet himself in the process.

“Who are you?” the woman asked.

Jim offered her a tight grin.

“Maintenance.”

She looked distinctly unimpressed. Yeah, Jim hadn’t been having much luck with that excuse lately.

“I suppose it doesn’t particularly matter,” the woman said. “My backup will be arriving momentarily, and yours won’t be getting up anytime soon.”

Jim didn’t spare another look for Riley, but he didn’t think she was bluffing. Still, he only grinned wider. He’d been reliably informed that it was infuriating.

“Well, at least it’ll be closer to a fair fight for you guys,” he said. “Although if you’d wanted that, you should’ve taken me out first.”

His opponent didn’t rise to the bait. She was staring at Jim, her eyebrows drawing together.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she said, the curse sounding faintly absurd in her elegant voice. Her finger loosened on the trigger, even as her expression tightened with annoyance. “Leave it to you bloody Americans to muck everything up.”

“Uh, excuse me?” Jim said, feeling like he’d missed a step somewhere.

“It’s a false alarm, gentlemen,” the woman said into a radio at her shoulder. “No need to send in the cavalry.” She switched the device back off and glowered at Jim. “We _told_ your director that we would handle Khan. What the hell is he doing, sending you blundering in here?”

“I was not _blundering_ ,” Jim protested, indignant. “And who the hell…?” he trailed off, casting another assessing glance over the woman.

He bit back a groan.

“MI-6?” he guessed.

“Captain Marcus, Special Reconnaissance Regiment.”

“Figures,” Jim grumbled. The SRR was the most Bond-like of the real British intelligence community.

He didn’t doubt the truth of Marcus’ claim. He’d worked with UK special forces before, and this woman held herself the same way. It was why she’d seemed familiar.

By unspoken agreement, he and his fellow operative lowered their guns simultaneously.

“How did you know who I was with?” Jim asked.

Marcus raised one delicate blond eyebrow.

“You have something of a reputation in certain circles, Agent Kirk,” she said. Jim blinked, startled, but she didn’t give him time to ask the obvious question. “But that’s hardly important at the moment. What are you doing here?”

“Hey, I’m not trying to scoop your op, whatever it is,” Jim said. “I’ve been undercover with a different organization, and the boss wants Khan dead and his files wiped.” He jerked a thumb at the laptop behind him. “That last part was my job.”

Disbelief and anger stormed across Marcus’ expression.

“You wiped his files?” she demanded.

“Give me a little credit,” Jim said. “I backed everything up first. My team already has a copy of everything relevant, and everything else is on here.”

He held up the hard drive.

“And you’re just going to hand that over to whatever criminal you’re working for?”

Jim grimaced. It was a fair question.

“Not like I have much choice,” he said. “But like I said, I sent all the relevant info to my team. Our techie will be able to use it to monitor for any threats that arise.”

“Well, no offense to this techie of yours, but I can’t trust him to be good enough,” Marcus snapped. “I’ve only been undercover here for two weeks and I’ve already seen that Khan is worse than we thought. If his files get into the wrong hands, someone else could use them to become just as bad.”

“The guy I’m working for is _already_ worse,” Jim said. “And if I don’t get him these files, I’m done. I’ll never get a real shot at him.”

“That’s your problem. Mine is making sure that the Khan threat is neutralized. _Completely_.”

Jim stared at the British soldier. Her eyes were hard, mirroring the same determination that was gripping Jim. He realized that they were at an impasse. Slowly, deliberately, he tucked the small drive into a pouch on his belt.

“I don’t want this to turn into a fight,” he said. “We’re on the same side, here. But I’m taking this drive with me.”

Because if he didn’t, if he failed in his part of this mission, he risked losing his place in Nero’s organization. He risked losing _Bones_.

Marcus’ expression tightened. Jim watched her gun arm tense, and he shifted into a ready stance. But then the her eyes fixed on something over his shoulder, and she swore again. Jim didn’t turn. He’d used that ploy too many times to fall for it himself.

Marcus strode forward, and Jim braced himself for an attack, but she just brushed by him, bending over his laptop. Jim finally turned, and saw that she hadn’t just been trying to distract him. It was his turn to swear.

Multiple camera angles showed heavily-armed security forces converging on the room where Ayel and his men were still waiting. Khan must have been tipped off to the threat somehow, and he’d sent his men to take care of the would-be assassins. The Narada crew still seemed to be oblivious to the approaching threat, but even if they were alerted, there wasn’t much they could do. They would be surrounded and outnumbered. The guards didn’t look like the rent-a-cop type either.

“Idiots!” Marcus snarled. She glared at Jim. “How could you let them go through with a plan so sloppy? Khan’s security will only be that much tighter after this.”

“Hey, I’m their computer guy; they don’t exactly ask me for my tactical input.”

Jim shouldered the other agent aside and took control of the keyboard, bringing up a few more feeds.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for a way to help them. Much as I’d like to see them all bleed out up there, it would pretty much ruin my chances of completing my mission. Besides, I don’t think any of us are exactly rooting for Khan here.”

Seconds later, he’d found what he needed. Botany Bay operated out of one of the ultra-modern, high-tech buildings that were cropping up in more and more metropolitan areas. It meant that every single door was keyed with automated locks. And automated locks could be hacked.

“There,” Jim declared as he locked Khan’s security teams out of the waiting room. “That should give me enough time to get up there.”

He could mount his own ambush on the would-be ambushers. Thinking fast and hoping for the best, he keyed in several more commands, then turned away from the computer and began to strip one of the fallen guards of his weapons.

“Us, you mean,” Marcus said. “Enough time for _us_ to get up there.”

“Uh, no, I definitely mean just me.” Jim moved onto the second guard.

“Listen, we both lose if Khan survives today. You’ve already botched this enough; I won’t chance you making things even worse. I’m coming with you.”

“Okay, first of all: gee, thanks for that. And second of all: no, you’re not.” Jim straightened to face Marcus. “How the hell am I supposed to explain to my guys why you’re helping me? You’ll blow both of our covers. Not to mention the fact that I can’t trust _you_ not to screw things up for _me_. And I don’t have time to argue about it!”

Marcus scowled fiercely at him and opened her mouth to argue, but a muffled groan from behind Jim cut her off. They both turned to look at Riley, who was beginning to stir.

“You didn’t kill him?” Jim demanded incredulously.

“I was going to interrogate him after I’d dealt with you! Sorry if that wasn’t bloodthirsty enough for a Yankee like you!”

“Oh, so this is an American thing now?” Jim asked.

“I’m sorry, isn’t it always?”

Jim made a face.

“That’s fair,” he admitted.

Without missing a beat, he lashed out, putting all his strength into a blow that landed squarely on Marcus’ jaw with enough force to send pain lancing through his fist. Her head snapped back and she dropped without a sound. She didn’t get up.

Still without so much as a pause for breath, Jim hurried to one of the bodies on the floor. Grimacing, he dipped his hand in the pool of blood slowly congealing around it. He smeared it over Marcus’ chest, before moving onto Riley and nudging him with his foot.

“Hey, wake up!” he hissed to the groggy man. “Riley!”

Riley finally blinked his eyes open and squinted up at Jim.

“Wha’ happ’ned?” he asked.

“What happened is that you let a girl get the drop on you. I took care of her. Come on.” Jim tugged Riley upright. “We’re done down here, and the rest of the team’s in trouble. Move your ass.”

Riley stumbled a little on his feet, but steadied quickly. He glanced around him, scowling at the motionless form of the British soldier.

“You killed her?” he asked Jim, eyeing the bloodstains on Marcus’ security uniform.

“Hey, I’m more than just a pretty face. I’ve been paying attention in training.”

Jim tugged Riley into motion before he could notice the rise and fall of Marcus’ chest. He explained what was happening as they took an elevator up to the floor directly below the one currently swarming with confused and angry security guards trying to beat down their own doors. Riley then relayed the information to Ayel through the comm he wore. Jim hadn’t been trusted with one of his own.

Okay, crawling through air ducts might be getting a _little_ old, but it was the only way to get into the waiting room. Jim went first this time, as Riley was apparently still wary after the shoving incident.

When they finally rejoined the rest of their team, it was to find that Jim had gotten the timing damn near perfect. The first set of automated locks clicked open to allow just one group of guards into the room, and the Narada team was ready for them. Jim had brought enough weapons from the dead guards to make up for the ones that had been confiscated by Khan’s people, and it wasn’t long before the first round was dead on the floor.

After that, locks clicked open one by one, forming a direct pathway to Khan’s main office. The guards they encountered were dealt with efficiently, but there were fewer of them than there could’ve been, thanks to all of the locks that remained shut. It was hard for Jim to fight his instincts, to hold back and let Ayel take the lead while he pretended to barely know one end of his stolen gun from the other, but he managed. It helped that Ayel was actually quite capable, and soon they were pushing their way into Khan’s office.

Which was empty.

They did a quick search of the elegant office to make sure that Khan wasn’t hiding anywhere, but none of them were surprised when they came up empty. Jim had seen Khan on the security feeds, but he must’ve had some kind of hidden means of escape. They were too late.

“Dammit!” yelled a man named Garrison as he kicked over a trashcan in frustration.

Ayel didn’t seem the type to lose control of his emotions quite so easily, but Jim could see the fury brewing in his eyes.

“Tell me you at least got the data,” he snapped at Jim.

“I did.” Jim held up the hard drive. “But I think I can do you one better. I think I can help you find Khan again.”

Before he could elaborate, the sound of gunshots met his ears again and something on his chest burned sharply. He gasped and stumbled, legs folding beneath him as Ayel and his men raised their guns to fire at the fresh wave of guards that must have broken through their lock and were pouring into the office. They soon went the way of the others, but not without cost this time.

“You hurt?” Ayel asked Jim brusquely, tugging his hand away from where it was pressed to his chest.

It came away wet, dark blood smearing his fingers.

Jim looked down. Blood was trickling down his chest and seeping into his shirt from the thin track that a bullet had carved in his skin. The wound burned like nobody’s business, but Jim had seen enough injuries to know that it wasn’t serious.

“It’s just a graze,” he told Ayel.

“Good. We need to get out of here.”

Jim wasn’t about to argue. He let Ayel haul him to his feet, glancing around the ruined office as he did. Two of Ayel’s men lay dead among the bodies of Khan’s guards. Jim grimaced. He hadn’t known either of them particularly well, but he still would’ve preferred to keep the team intact, at least until the current mission was over.

He followed the five surviving Narada men out of the office at a run, and they headed for the elevators. They could hear the sounds of guards trying to break through their locked doors, and he knew it was only a matter of time before they succeeded.

Which was why it was less than ideal to find that the elevators had been shut down.

One of the guards must have activated some kind of security protocol. Even if Jim managed to crack it, he wouldn’t trust the damn thing not to stop between floors, trapping them. And Jim wasn’t afraid of much, but he didn’t relish the thought of being trapped in an elevator with five terrorists while dozens of other morally questionable and heavily armed people were trying to kill him.

They moved to the stairwell door instead. It was also locked.

Jim cursed his own thoroughness as two of the men tried to beat the door down. Locking everything had seemed like a good idea at the time, but it looked like it was going to be his undoing. Even if they managed to fight off Khan’s men, the Mumbai cops were bound to be on their way by now, and they were unlikely to side with the intruders.

But then there was a quiet buzzing sound, and the deadbolt thunked back into the door. Riley blinked and tried the handle, which gave easily, admitting them all into the emergency staircase.

“Your thing must have timed out,” he said to Jim as they all began to run down flight after flight of stairs. “Lucky.”

But it wasn’t luck. Jim’s program hadn’t contained anything as sophisticated as time out measures. Which meant…

He glanced at the security camera on one of the landings. He touched his hand to his chest, a brief gesture that any of the others would just interpret as his wound bothering him. But Captain Marcus would recognize it for the thanks that it was. She must have woken up, and instead of letting the guards kill them, using her cover to gain access to the bodies and recover the hard drive from Jim, she’d chosen to help him instead.

If he lived through this mission, Jim was going to write her a thank-you note on the brim of a Yankees cap.

What was left of the team cleared the building without further incident and retreated to a no-questions-asked motel at the edge of the city to regroup and strategize. While Jim was swabbing out the bullet graze on his chest and taping a pad of gauze over it, he explained to Ayel what he’d meant in Khan’s office. While finding people electronically wasn’t his specialty, he’d had to develop a passable competency with it over the years. Ayel was willing to try just about anything at that point, and he sent Riley and Kelso out to find the extra computers that Jim requested.

It didn’t take him long to realize that he had a difficult task ahead of him. Khan was undoubtedly being incredibly careful in the wake of the attempt on his life, and a man as shrewd as him was guaranteed to have contingency plans in place. He would either be going to ground or planning a counterattack, and he wouldn’t be easy to find while he was doing it. But he would slip up somewhere. And Jim would be waiting.

*****

Jim hated waiting.

It gave him too much time to think without distraction, to rehash his actions and consider what he could’ve done differently. He spent a lot of that time thinking about Captain Marcus, about how if he’d just gotten to spend a little more time with her, he could’ve used her to get a message to his team, a real message. They could’ve gotten Joanna McCoy to safety, and Jim would’ve been able to start planning a real escape for Bones.

It was tempting, with the powerful computers at his disposal and the open network access, to try to get a message out anyway. But he had never been under such intense scrutiny as he worked, and he couldn’t risk it. It wasn’t from a lack of trust this time - he had a feeling he’d earned some of that during the altercation at Botany Bay. Rather, everyone was antsy and full of pent-up energy with nowhere to put it, and Jim was the only one who could actually do anything, which wasn’t exactly sitting well.

“Look, the next person to ask me if I’ve found him yet gets drop-kicked out the window,” he finally snapped after Kelso looked over his shoulder for the tenth time in three minutes.

“Kelso, take Garrison and go get us some food,” Ayel ordered. “Riley, you and McKenna go out to the lobby and make sure no trouble comes in.”

The men scrambled to do as they were bid, undoubtedly thrilled for the excuse to get out of the room. Jim couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief when they were gone.

“You were good today, Finney,” Ayel told him, watching him intently. “You keep your head in a crisis.”

Jim’s chest tightened. He wasn’t sure if he’d just been given a compliment, or if he’d earned himself more suspicion for being too good at things he shouldn’t have been. He forced a casual shrug, not pausing in his work.

“My mom always used to say that there was never a situation so bad, you couldn’t make it worse by panicking,” he said. “All it does is slow you down and make you more likely to screw up.”

“Perhaps, but knowing that and being able to live by it are two different things. If this entire team had been made up of men like you, we wouldn’t have failed today.”

Jim blinked and looked up. Ayel seemed to be sincere, although he wasn’t looking at Jim anymore. He was staring down at his phone, its screen dark. Jim could only imagine that he was thinking about what he was going to have to say to Nero, how he was going to explain this. Jim didn’t envy him the task.

“So what did this guy even do to Nero anyway?” he asked. What earned one terrorist the wrath of another?

Ayel looked at him for a moment, like he wasn’t sure whether or not to answer. Then he shrugged.

“Nero created Khan, helped him to establish himself, get the resources and connections he needed to run his business. They even worked together on a few…projects. But then Khan forgot himself, forgot where he came from, what he owed. Nero doesn’t let that kind of disrespect stand.”

So it was personal. That was good, actually. It would mean that if Jim could actually pull off finding him, it would do wonders for his standing.

He met Ayel’s gaze.

“I’ll get it done,” he promised.

“You’d better.”

*****

It took two days to locate Khan, and the better part of a third to come up with a plan for getting to him. But by the morning of the fourth day, there was one less criminal mastermind in the world, and Jim was on his way back to Bones.

He slept for most of the flight back to Italy, but he was still tired by the time they arrived at Narada. While the second attack on Khan had gone much more smoothly than the first, it had still been a stressful, exhausting event. Despite his weariness though, he made straight for Bones’ suite the moment Ayel dismissed him with a clap on the shoulder.

He knocked his knuckles against the door in his signature sequence. There came a loud crash from the other side of it and Jim tensed at once, shoving the door open. His eyes swept the room automatically for threats, but he saw none. He’d barely made it a step before Bones was upon him, grabbing him by the shoulders.

His stomach dropped. He knew they’d left things on somewhat shaky terms, but he’d thought that his safe return would be enough to smooth things over a little bit. But the tightness of Bones’ grip and the fervor in his eyes as he stared at Jim had him questioning that assumption.

“So, uh, I made it,” he said nervously.

And then Bones was surging towards him, hands moving up to cup his face, crushing their mouths together.

The kiss was hard and brief, edged with adrenaline and relief and a hint of desperation. It was over before Jim even realized it had begun, before he could shake off the stunned stupor that it’d sent him into and return it properly. Bones stepped back to hold him at arm’s length.

“Are you all right?” he demanded, gaze sweeping over Jim’s body again. His face was pale, his hair unkempt, eyes shadowed - honestly, he looked about how Jim felt. He didn’t even seem to realize what he’d just done.

Jim stared at him, feeling like the breath had been sucked out of his lungs and had no intention of returning. But he had to say _something_ to alleviate the distress in Bones’ eyes.

“Uh, I- yeah, I’m fine,” he managed, still breathless. He couldn’t even begin to think of how to address what had just happened, and it didn’t seem to be very high up on Bones’ priority list.

Because Bones didn’t seem to believe him. His visual inspection evidently not enough to satisfy him, he started running his hands over Jim’s body in a manual scan. Jim couldn’t help the instinctive flinch when he skimmed over his bullet graze. Bones zeroed in instantly, grabbing the hem of Jim’s shirt, pulling it up and over his head.

He froze, wide eyes fixing on the sloppily taped bandage that Jim hadn’t bothered to change since the second day of the mission. He blanched to an alarming shade of grey.

“Don’t worry, it’s just-” But Jim didn’t get the chance to finish that sentence, because Bones was moving again, pulling him towards one of the exam tables. They had to skirt around a blue puddle full of glass on the floor, most likely the source of the crash that had so worried Jim a moment ago. Bones practically lifted Jim onto the table himself.

“Lie still,” he ordered, sharp but with the hint of a waver in his voice.

Jim knew better than to argue, but he still watched Bones in concern as he settled back against the thin mattress.

“Did something happen while I was gone?” he asked as Bones unpeeled the bandage from his wound.

The only response he got was a soft, strangled sound as the scabbing line of the bullet graze was revealed. Bones stared at it for a fraction of an instant, the last remaining traces of color draining from his face. And then he was in motion, stalking to his supply cabinets and fumbling through them, pulling out bandages and antibiotic creams and a suture kit.

“Bones.” Jim sat up again, swinging his legs over the side of the exam table.

“I told you to lie still!” Bones snapped, dumping the supplies on the other table and grabbing Jim by the shoulders to push him back down.

Jim thought it best not to resist this time. It was hardly the first time Bones had fussed over him, but he’d never seen the man quite like this. He focused on keeping his breathing even and his heart rate under control as Bones’ hands moved urgently over his skin, probing at the edges of his wound, checking the rest of his torso for damage.

The memory of the kiss was still sharp in Jim’s mind, burning on his lips. This wasn’t the time for it, for thinking through everything it could’ve but hadn’t meant, but still it taunted him with every touch from his former lover’s hands. He bit his lip, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling as he willed his thoughts to go blank.

Bones didn’t say a word as he carefully cleaned and re-bandaged Jim’s wound. But when he’d finished, he left his hands on Jim’s chest. They were shaking.

Bones’ hands never shook.

Heart in his throat, Jim covered those hands with his own and squeezed gently.

“Bones, I am _fine_ ,” he insisted, ducking his head to try to catch Bones’ gaze. But those haunted hazel eyes were fixed on the track of the bullet, covered now by crisp white gauze. “Hey. It’s just a graze.”

“A _bullet_ graze.” Bones finally jerked his eyes up to meet Jim’s. “That’s right, isn’t it? Someone fired a goddamn _bullet_ at your goddamn _chest_ and they _didn’t fucking miss_.”

“They missed enough.”

“God _damn_ it, Jim!” Bones was gripping Jim’s hands back hard enough now to turn his knuckles white. His expression twisted, crumpled, and he sagged forward until his forehead was pressed to Jim’s collarbone. The tremors had spread from his hands, and Jim could feel them rippling through him.

“Goddamnit,” Bones repeated, softer, more broken.

Curses continued to escape him, muffled against Jim’s skin. Jim was starting to lose feeling in his fingers.

“Bones, hey.” Thoroughly alarmed now, he tugged free so that he could cup Bones’ face in his hands and tilt his chin up. He was startled to see the unshed tears sparkling in his eyes.

“Five days,” Bones whispered. “You were gone for five fucking days. And Nero was so angry…He was ranting about how he had to replace- I thought…”

He didn’t have to say what he’d thought. Jim had lived through the same thing just two weeks ago.

“I know,” he sighed. “I know, Bones. I’m sorry. We lost a couple guys in a firefight, but I barely got hurt, all right? I’m fine, Bones, I swear. I’m fine.”

Bones stared at him wordlessly for an impossibly long second. Jim watched him finally accept it, watched some of the raw fear fade at last. The look in his eyes turned helpless.

“Goddamnit,” he whispered yet again, but his tone was different now. Jim didn’t have time to contemplate how before Bones was moving again, closing the infinitesimal distance between them and pressing his mouth to Jim’s.

This kiss was still tinged with the desperation and urgency of the one that came before it, but now there was a deliberateness to it as well. And this time, even as all rational thought in Jim’s brain sputtered to a halt, his body more than picked up the slack. He responded automatically, instinctively, parting his lips to return the kiss, to welcome Bones back. But even as Bones deepened the kiss in return, he still left a careful inch of space between their chests, as if worried about Jim’s wound. Well, that wasn’t going to work for Jim.

He wrapped an arm around Bones’ broad shoulders, tugging him closer. But Bones stumbled, his knee banging against the base of the exam table, and they broke apart.

Jim didn’t relinquish his grip, but he also didn’t try to resume the kiss. He gasped for breath as he stared up at Bones, mind racing as fast as his heart.

“But I thought…” he said, voice sounding strange even to him. “You don’t want…”

Bones just looked at him for a moment. Something in his expression had shifted.

“Yeah, I thought so too,” he said. He clambered up onto the exam table, straddling Jim. “Guess we were both wrong.”

And then he was kissing Jim again. Heat shuddered through Jim as he felt hands anchor in his hair, tilting his head back for better access. He let out a soft moan into Bones’ mouth, clutched at his shoulders to pull him closer. This only made Bones kiss him harder, stealing his breath as effectively as if he’d jumped out of an airlock without a spacesuit. Jim would happily forego breathing for the rest of his life if it meant being kissed like this.

He slid his hands under Bones’ shirt to trace the curves of his ribs, the ridge of his spine, the planes of the body he’d known so well. He’d _missed_ this. Bones didn’t stop him, just arched his back slightly into the touch, fingers tightening in Jim’s hair. He sucked at Jim’s lower lip, before finally relenting, breaking away from his mouth to kiss his throat instead.

“Bones…” Jim gasped. But he wasn’t sure what words to follow that up with. Rational thought was dancing further and further out of reach. “What about…?” He groaned and shuddered as he felt teeth scrape lightly over the sensitive skin of his neck. “Same mistake twice?”

Bones paused, his breath tickling over Jim’s skin. His tone was low and unreadable when he answered.

“I was kidding myself to think I hadn’t already made it.”

Jim wasn’t quite sure he knew or liked what that meant, but before he could give it much thought, Bones’ mouth was at his throat again, hot and wet and insistent. It seemed an appropriate time to stop thinking altogether.

He dug his fingers into Bones’ muscled back, reveling in the warm weight above him. Bones’ tongue found the sensitive spot below his ear, and he cried out, spine arching against the table.

Bones reclaimed his mouth in a hurry.

Every place their bodies touched was burning, and Jim welcomed the blaze. He’d missed it desperately. He’d missed the taste of Bones, missed the warm, familiar smell of him. He’d missed the sounds of the soft, breathless gasps of air that Bones snatched between urgent kisses. He’d missed watching the way Bones’ eyes fluttered shut scant inches from his own, close enough to count his eyelashes. He’d missed the feel of Bones’ lips against his own, of Bones’ arms holding him close. All of his senses were overwhelmed by _Bones_ , and it just made him crave more.

Jim didn’t realize how hard he’d gotten until he felt Bones’ deft fingers at his waist, working to undo his belt. And although it was the last thing he felt like doing, he reached down to catch Bones’ wrists, stopping him.

“Are you sure?” Jim asked. His head was spinning, his blood was burning, and any control he may have had was evaporating fast, but he didn’t want Bones to do something he’d regret.

Bones just trapped him with a look.

“I need you, Jim.” His voice was low and rough. “I’m sure of that.”

Well. There went the last of Jim’s control. He let go of Bones’ wrists so that he could grab his face and pull him in for another urgent kiss. Even as he returned it, Bones resumed his efforts on the belt buckle, making short work of the clasp and moving onto the zipper of Jim’s cargo pants. He had the right idea, and Jim fumbled at Bones’ shirt, grateful that it was a button-down so that he could get it off without breaking the kiss.

But as he tossed it aside to land on the tiled floor, he couldn’t help remembering where they were. He broke away reluctantly, nearly getting hopelessly distracted by the sight of Bones shirtless and breathless above him.

“Not here,” Jim panted. “Come on, Bones; not out here.”

Bones’ eyes had gone wide and dark with need, but he still pulled back slightly with a nod. Jim tried to get up, but Bones was having none of that. He scooped him up with a grunt of effort, clambering back off the exam table and landing on his feet. Jim yelped and wrapped his legs around Bones’ waist, another wave of heat shuddering through him at the added friction. He pressed his mouth to Bones’ throat, licking a sloppy trail of kisses down his neck and over his collarbone, his bare shoulder. He took great satisfaction in the way Bones shivered against him as he carried him into the bedroom with hurried strides, stepping out of his shoes as he went.

Jim didn’t pay attention to how far they’d gone until Bones was setting him down on the edge of a much softer mattress, pushing him gently onto his back and looming over him again. He lay still, pulse racing, as Bones kissed a trail down his chest, carefully avoiding the gauze over his wound, then lower, over the taut muscles of his abdomen, then lower still. He propped himself up on his elbows to watch, the sight of Bones kneeling between his legs making him swallow hard against a hot rush of need.

He lifted his hips so that Bones could finally finish tugging off his pants. He shivered as warm hands stroked over his thighs, watched Bones dip his head to kiss the tip of his aching cock. It was just the lightest brush of his lips, nothing but a tantalizing promise, but it still dragged a strangled gasp from Jim. He collapsed back, reaching down blindly.

“Bones.” He knew every wicked thing that mouth could do and he wanted all of them, but not just then. “Up here. Please. I need to feel you this time.”

He shifted back, pulling himself the rest of the way onto the mattress. Bones followed him a moment later, straddling his hips. He’d finally shed his own pants in the meantime, and Jim’s breath caught. There was another sight he’d missed.

He caught Bones by the back of his neck and dragged him down for a needy kiss. Bones’ hands ended up in his hair again, tugging just hard enough to send shivers of pleasure through him, but Jim couldn’t keep his own hands still. He dragged them over Bones’ sides, his ass, his thighs, back up to his shoulders, exploring, relearning. He’d tried so many inadequate replacements for this, he’d forgotten just how incredible the real thing was.

But neither of them was in the frame of mind to appreciate a slow, savoring reunion. Bones ground down against Jim in a way that sent shockwaves through his entire body, making him groan low in his throat. Bones swallowed the sound, rocking his hips again like the merciless bastard he was.

“Bones,” Jim gasped, the kiss breaking as he arched. “Bones, please.”

“Tell me what you want, Jim,” Bones murmured in his ear, teeth grazing over his earlobe.

“You. I want-” Jim’s breath hitched as Bones’ hands tightened in his hair. “You.”

Bones was still for just a moment, and Jim wished he could see his face. But then he was pressing one last, almost chaste kiss to Jim’s lips and pulling back, reaching for a tube of lubricant that he must have grabbed on their way in, when Jim was…distracted. Jim tried to turn over, to give him better access, but Bones pressed him back down against the mattress.

“I wanna look at you, Jim,” he growled softly. “Missed too many chances already.”

Jim had nothing to say to that. He’d forgotten what it was like, to be with someone for more than just physical sensation or a mission. It was just as well, because then Bones’ slicked fingers were inside him, rendering him effectively speechless anyway.

“Fucking hell, your _hands_ ,” he panted, grabbing fistfuls of sheets in a desperate bid for some semblance of control. “I forgot.”

Bones was more than happy to remind him. Jim wanted so badly to watch, but Bones’ touch was already undoing him, and the sight brought him too close to the edge. So he squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip, breaths coming in hitching gasps as he began to writhe helplessly, fighting to hold himself together.

But despite the need that had been mirrored in Bones’ face, he was careful and deliberate as he worked Jim open. He was treating him like something breakable, and that was unacceptable. Jim bucked against his fingers, trying to force them deeper, but Bones just splayed his free hand over Jim’s abdomen, holding him still.

When Jim couldn’t stand it anymore, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

He fumbled for the lube, slicking up his hand. He reached for Bones, stroking him with the perfect pressure and rhythm he remembered. Bones’ fingers jerked inside him, and Jim had to bite his lip harder.

“Jim, hang on. I need to get-”

“No, wait.” Jim grasped Bones’ wrist with his free hand, holding him in place. “We didn’t need those last time, Bones, and nothing has changed for me, I swear. I’m still clean. Please just-” He wet lips that had gone dry. “Just let me feel you.”

Bones just stared at him for a moment, and Jim was afraid that he’d pushed too far, asked for too much. But then Bones nodded with a slightly helpless look and leaned in to kiss him hungrily. It couldn’t last long though, not with the desperate urgency that was overtaking them both. He pulled back again, finally withdrawing the skillful fingers that had been wreaking havoc on Jim’s control.

Jim was left hollow and aching, and he grasped at Bones’ hips, trying to pull him in. But although Bones looked almost as wrecked as he felt, he didn’t move, didn’t slide himself past the entrance that he’d so carefully prepared for himself.

“Tell me you want me, Jim” he said softly, eyes dark and fathomless.

“I want you, Bones,” Jim gasped at once. “God, I want you so bad, I _need_ you, I never stopped, _please-_ ”

The plea turned into a keening cry as Bones finally pushed into him, stretching him open in a blissful burn. Bones paused as Jim’s fingers dug into his skin, and they both took a moment to just _breathe_ , to make sure that this wouldn’t be over before it began. Bones bent over Jim, kissing him more sloppily now, a clumsy clash of teeth and tongues. Jim squirmed at the friction as his cock was trapped between them, and he bucked his hips, desperate for more.

“Move,” he begged. “I need _fuck-_ ”

Bones had pulled out and slammed into him again, stealing whatever breath remained in his lungs and sending sparks dancing across his vision. It felt so fucking _good_ , so much better than any of the substitutes he’d tried in the last eight years.

“Again,” he whimpered. “Harder.”

Bones obliged. Any trace of guile was gone from his expression, eclipsed entirely by the same need that was currently burning Jim up from the inside out. He settled into a fervent rhythm, burying himself in Jim over and over. Every time he pulled out felt like an unbearable loss, and Jim wrapped his legs around Bones’ waist, trying to draw him closer. Bones held him down but picked up his pace, setting every nerve in Jim’s body aflame.

He threw his head back, and the sounds that came out of him might have been embarrassing at any other time, but he was well past caring. He felt Bones’ mouth hot on his throat and he grabbed blindly, anchoring a hand tightly in his lover’s hair. He wanted to stay like this forever, to feel nothing but Bones for the rest of his life. But then Bones started hitting that perfect spot, sending a burst of pleasure crashing through him with every thrust, and he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Jim.” Bones’ broken gasp was a warning, a plea, a prayer.

The sound of it shot straight through Jim’s chest, piercing him deep. He recognized that tone, knew it meant that he wasn’t the only one who was close.

“Look at me, Bones,” he commanded softly.

Still rocking their hips together, Bones complied.

An incoherent cry tumbled from Jim’s lips and he lost sight of Bones’ face as his vision was momentarily eclipsed by stars. He might have gotten hopelessly lost in it but for the solid weight collapsing on top of him, grounding him. Bones was shuddering through his own climax, and Jim wrapped his arms around him, clinging tight as they both waited for the world to come back. He could feel Bones’ heart pounding, in time with his own.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their rapid breathing. Jim couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this, so wrung-out and yet so content, so satisfied. It was a bliss he’d thought lost to him forever. And when Bones finally rolled off of him with a soft sigh, Jim didn’t let him pull away. He just repositioned them so that Bones’ warm weight was beside him instead of on top of him, his head nestled against Jim’s shoulder. Bones settled a hand on his ribcage, as if measuring Jim’s breaths as they slowed gradually to a more sedate rhythm.

It was such a tender, intimate gesture. After everything they’d just done together, that shouldn’t have struck Jim as deeply as it did. And yet the awed, affectionate warmth that surged through his chest was even more powerful than the consuming passion of moments before. Because this, really, was what he’d missed the most. This feeling of contentment, completeness, the indescribable _rightness_ of being with the center of his universe.

But with it came something darker, uglier.

Jim tucked his face into Bones’ hair and closed his eyes, willing his wits to stay scattered, the fog of happiness safely in place. But his brain was a fickle bastard, and now that it had let his heart get him into this, it was coming back from its vacation with a vengeance.


	10. Chapter 10

_“You’ve got your ticket?”_

_“Yes, Jim, just like I did the last time you asked.”_

_“What about a book? Snacks? Did you pee? It’s an eight hour trip, and you know how gross the bathrooms are gonna be.”_

_Bones rolled his eyes. He and Jim were standing on a crowded platform in Union Station, the sounds of an approaching train growing louder by the second. Bones had a messenger bag slung over his shoulder and a duffel tucked under one arm, but Jim was empty-handed._

_“Aren’t I supposed to be the mother hen in this relationship?” Bones asked._

_Jim mustered up a smile. It required more effort than it usually did._

_His heart was heavy in his chest, still unused to the weight of the sadness that had been dropped on it by his mother’s death. It was only the day after her funeral, too soon to be saying goodbye to the man who had kept Jim from drowning in his grief. But Bones had dropped everything to be with him this week and now he to get back to his residency or risk losing it, while Jim had to stay in D.C. to help his brother finish putting their mother’s affairs in order._

_“I guess you’re rubbing off on me,” he said._

_“Will wonders never cease?”_

_Bones’ eyes were warmer than his teasing words, and his touch was gentle as he pulled Jim in one-handed for a kiss. It ended too quickly, and Jim couldn’t quite manage to let go of Bones when he tried to break away, holding him close in a hug instead. He felt Bones drop his duffel to wrap both arms around him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face into his boyfriend’s shoulder._

_Neither of them said anything. They didn’t have to._

_Jim could’ve stayed like that forever, oblivious to the crowd of strangers milling around them, but a computerized voice pierced his sanctuary, warning that the train was about to depart._

_“I can stay,” Bones murmured softly._

_He meant it, Jim knew. He’d miss his train, flip off his attending, lose his residency, just to be there for him. Which was why Jim couldn’t let him. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, held Bones impossibly tighter for a fraction of a second, and then let him go._

_“No, you go,” he said, forcing a smile. “Safe travels.”_

_Bones didn’t even try to smile back as he stooped to pick up his duffel._

_“I’ll see you soon, Jim,” he promised._

_It was the most comforting thing he could have said, and Jim’s smile became just a little more real._

_“See you soon, Bones.”_

Jim hadn’t meant for that to be a lie.

He hadn’t meant for any of this. He could never have predicted where his life would take him just a few hours after that very moment, what earth-shattering revelations awaited him in the office that had belonged to his mother. He couldn’t have foreseen the mission that would consume him, the sacrifices he would make. The people he would hurt.

Jim sighed, blinking away the old memories and wrapping his arms around Bones. They felt contemptibly useless now, weak and inadequate. Bones settled more comfortably against his side, relaxed, trusting. As if he were safe around Jim, as if he were _protected_. But he wasn’t, and he couldn’t be. Not like this.

Jim pulled in a deep breath, filling his nose with the clean scent of Bones’ hair, the comforting tang of his sweat. He wanted to stay like this forever too, but he couldn’t now any more than he had eight years ago.

“Bones,” he murmured.

It was just one word, but his tone was enough to make Bones go still in his arms. Jim swallowed hard and forced himself to let go of him, disentangling himself and sitting up. He found that he couldn’t bring himself to look at Bones, so he turned his back on him, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and bracing his elbows on his knees. He dropped his head into his hands, grinding his palms into his eyes until spots exploded across his black vision.

“Jim?”

Jim let his hands fall and opened his eyes, but he still didn’t turn to look at Bones.

“I forgot,” he said.

“Forgot what?”

“I forgot that I don’t get to be Jim Kirk. Not here, not now. I’m sorry, Bones. We can’t do this.”

Bones was silent for a long moment. Then Jim felt the mattress shifting, dipping at his side as Bones sat next to him, several careful inches between them.

“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?” he asked, his tone flat.

“Doing what?”

“Pulling away because you’re scared.”

Jim winced, but he couldn’t exactly deny it.

“It’s not the same,” he said quietly.

“I knew it!” Bones stood abruptly and rounded on Jim. His eyes were bright with growing anger, but it wasn’t quite enough to mask the pain underneath, and that was so much worse. “What’s your excuse this time, Jim?”

“It’s not an excuse!” Jim protested, getting to his feet as well. “Look at where we are! Don’t you-” He took a breath, regrouped. “When I’m with you, I’m Jim. But here, on this mission, I can’t be. Do you understand that? One slip-up by me, one moment of distraction, and I could get us both killed.”

“Oh, come on. That’s not what you’re really afraid of.”

“It _is_ , Bones.” Jim reached out instinctively to take Bones by the shoulders, but then he froze. His touch would be worse than unwelcome just then. “Look at us.”

He gestured vaguely between them, and then pointed at the door to the bedroom.

“My mind was so clouded by the thought of being with you that I didn’t even make sure you closed the _door_. That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about. I’m not just scared for _me_. I’m scared for all of the people who’ll get hurt and keep getting hurt if I blow this mission. And I’m fucking _terrified_ for you. You’re my biggest weakness, Bones, and the first damn thing someone would do if I’m made is use you against me. I can’t let that happen. I’ll prioritize your safety over my happiness, every time.”

“How noble of you.” Jim flinched at the bitterness in his tone. “Well, God knows I wouldn’t want to be a _distraction_.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Bones’ shoulders slumped, some of the fight seeming to drain out of him. He looked away.

“I know,” he said, and most of the bitterness had been replaced by sadness now. “I guess I can’t argue against saving the world, can I?”

He stooped to pick up the pair of cargo pants lying discarded on the floor. He tossed them at Jim.

“You kept asking me if I was sure,” he said. “Guess it should’ve been the other way around.”

Jim’s throat was tight and aching. He pulled on the clothes, feeling empty, used up.

“I’m sorry, Bones,” he said. “I shouldn’t’ve…I was selfish.”

Because when Jim Kirk wanted something, he took it, and damn the consequences. Bones just snorted.

“Not like you made me do anything I didn’t want to,” he said, wrapping his arms around his bare torso and scowling at the floor. “I should’ve known better. I thought I _did_.” He shook his head. “Fool me twice, right?”

Jim swallowed hard.

“It’s not forever,” he said. The words might be small consolation, but maybe when this was over-

“It never is with you, is it?”

Jim winced as that one struck him. He wanted to deny it, but what could he say in his defense? He couldn’t give Bones another promise that he might not be able to keep.

“I should go.” He walked to the bedroom door, knowing that Bones wouldn’t follow.

“Jim-”

He paused in the doorway and looked back at Bones, who didn’t seem to know what else to say. Probably because there was nothing left.

“You should call me Ben.”

 *****

Chekov’s face lit up when Jim walked into their room ten minutes later. Jim cursed internally. He’d forgotten that after everything, he still had to face his roommate.

“You’re back!” Chekov cried with obvious delight, setting aside the book he’d been reading and scrambling to his feet.

He rushed towards Jim but stopped abruptly, looking him up and down. Jim watched as he took in the disheveled clothes and hair, the swollen lips, the marks on his neck. There was no question of him missing the obvious conclusion.

“Erm, did you have a good mission?” he asked, and his lips started to twitch slightly.

But Jim could not have been less in the mood for teasing and innuendo.

“Sure, if you count getting shot at and then stuck in a hotel room with a bunch of thugs for four days good,” he said shortly. “And I’m exhausted, so if you don’t mind…”

He retreated into their tiny bathroom, shutting the door on Chekov’s startled expression. After a moment he sighed and pulled it open again.

“It’s good to see you, Pavel,” he said, and then promptly closed the door without waiting for a response.

He showered, scrubbing the scent of Bones and sex from his skin, wishing it was as easy to wash away the sick feeling inside him, the guilt and anxiety that sat like a stone in his chest. He tugged off the fresh bandage that he’d let Bones apply so carefully, the healing graze only barely stinging as soapy water ran over it. He didn’t think Bones would be in a position to notice anytime soon.

He stayed under the hot spray for a long time, hoping without much confidence that Chekov would pick up on his desire to be alone and be gone by the time he got out. But when he emerged from the bathroom, towel around his waist, it was to find that not only was Chekov still there, but he had company.

“Ayel,” Jim said, freezing in the doorway.

His brain immediately kicked into overdrive, running over the last few days for anything that could’ve given him away or earned him the kind of wrath that would warrant a visit like this, considering various excuses and evasions.

“Don’t look so nervous, Finney,” Ayel told him. “This isn’t a visit from the principal. Unless of course there’s something you’d like to tell me?”

“No, sir,” Jim said at once. He was acutely aware of the fact that he was mostly naked, but he was a master of projecting confidence he didn’t feel. He straightened, smiling. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing, this time. I came to find you because I thought it was about time you got a bit of acknowledgement for all of the work you’ve put in.”

This was so completely the opposite of what Jim had been expecting that he had to take a second to switch gears.

“Wait, what?”

Ayel grinned, the first expression of genuine amusement that Jim had ever seen from him.

“After that showing at Botany Bay, I think you’ve earned some vacation time, don’t you?”

Jim stared at him. Had he really finally achieved the trust that this whole mission had been about in the first place? Just like that?

“Vacation time here meaning a single day in Rome, so don’t get too excited,” Ayel went on. “But it’s not nothing.”

“No, of course,” Jim said, finally collecting himself. “Thank you, sir. I look forward to it.”

“Well, you won’t have to look for long; you’re going tomorrow. And-” Ayel looked Jim up and down. “I’ve had a little talk with the boss about you. He wants to meet you.”

That took a moment to sink in, and then Jim’s heart started to race. He had to carefully maintain his composure as he answered.

“I see. I’d be honored to meet him.”

Ayel snorted.

“I’m sure that’ll make his day,” he said. “Just be sure not to get too sloppy on your little shore leave; you’ll be meeting with him when you get back.”

He turned and headed for the door, but stopped at the threshold and looked back.

“And a word of advice? Wear pants.”

 *****

It was hardly surprising that Jim didn’t get much sleep that night. Thoughts of Bones kept sneaking into his head, jarring him out of the careful headspace he was trying to find for the next day. The memories of Bones’ touch, his scent, the _feel_ of him made Jim’s blood hum and his chest ache with longing. But the memories of what had come after carved into him like knives, cutting deeper with each recollection. The bitter resignation in Bones’ eyes, the _sadness_ haunted him, tore at him.

He would fix this. When this was over, he would find a way to erase that sadness for good.

And it _would_ be over. Jim could almost taste the end of this mission, now that he’d finally gotten Nero’s attention. It was the first step into his inner circle, and once Jim had his confidence, he would be able to identify all of his clients and help rid the world of god only knew how many terrorists. And when that was done, there would be nothing to stop him from finally getting closure for his parents’ deaths. With that burden no longer weighing him down, maybe he could start living for himself again.

Hopes and fears and everything in between buzzed through Jim’s head until he finally succumbed to sheer exhaustion.

He was woken far too few hours later by Chekov’s usual alarm. He rose feeling a giddy and slightly nauseating blend of excited and anxious. His roommate shot him a few envious looks as they got dressed for their distinctly different days.

“Want me to bring you back a souvenir?” Jim asked him.

“Unless you can convince a pretty Italian girl to come back with you, do not bother,” Chekov said, a touch mournfully. Jim grinned at him.

“You know what would be better?” he asked. “A snow globe.”

He clapped Chekov on the shoulder. The kid muttered something less than complimentary in Russian.

Jim had been offered a ride into the city with two other Narada inhabitants who’d also earned days off, but he stopped by Bones’ suite before heading to the garage to meet them. He didn’t even bother knocking on the door. Bones couldn’t possibly want to see him, and he had little enough control over his life as it was. The last thing he needed was for Jim to feel entitled to waltz into his space at any time.

So Jim just slid a note through the crack under the door. It was innocent enough, in case anyone but its intended recipient saw it. All it said was _I got my day off._ Bones would understand what that meant, both for the two of them, and for Joanna. Jim lingered at the door for a few moments longer than he could strictly justify, but he finally tore himself away and headed for the garage.

Apparently he had overestimated the degree of trust he’d earned, because he still had to wear a blindfold for the trip into Rome. He was assured that it was standard for everyone’s first trip out though, and at least he wasn’t in the back of the smelly meat truck in which he’d ridden _to_ Narada.

He broke away from his companions quickly after being released, taking a meandering, circuitous route through the city. He knew that Scotty had hacked every security camera in the area at the start of this mission and would have facial recognition running constantly, scanning for him. His team undoubtedly already knew that he was there.

Once he was sure that he wasn’t being followed, he made his way to the predetermined contact point, a small internet cafe. He ordered a coffee and headed to the back corner booth, where sure enough, a familiar figure was waiting for him.

“Did you miss me, Spock?” Jim asked cheerfully as he sat down. His partner arched a single eyebrow.

“On the contrary, I found your absence rather restful.”

Jim grinned. He didn’t believe a word of it.

“The rest of the team was relieved to see you on the cameras, however,” Spock added grudgingly. “They were beginning to grow concerned.”

“Well, you can tell _them_ that I’m fine,” Jim said, knowing that the rest of their team was probably already listening through the earpiece his partner was sure to be wearing. “And it’s good to see you too, Spock.”

It was, even more so than Jim would have expected. This had been his most prolonged stint away from his team, and he’d missed them more than he’d realized.

“Your mission is progressing smoothly then?” Spock asked.

“Well…smoothly might be the wrong word.”

Spock’s other eyebrow went up to join the first.

“I’ve been gaining trust, and I think I’ve got a pretty good foothold in the organization,” Jim said, hedging. “I’ve even landed a face-to-face with Nero this afternoon.”

“I am sensing that a qualification is imminent.”

“Nero is holding an American civilian prisoner.” It felt wrong to put it in such detached, clinical terms.

“As a hostage?” Spock asked.

“No. Nero has MS, and he kidnapped the doctor that diagnosed him so that he could have constant access to personal medical care. His daughter’s life has been threatened to secure his cooperation.” Just speaking the words sent a fresh spike of rage through Jim, but he forced himself to ignore it. “I need you to send someone to pick up her and her mother and get them into protection.”

“That can certainly be done, but you must consider the fact that if the girl is being watched, her removal will alert Nero to the fact that there may be a spy in his organization. It could put the mission, and your life, at risk.”

“I know,” Jim sighed. “But there’s a five-year-old girl going to kindergarten every day with a sniper rifle aimed at her head. I can’t let that stand. And I can’t get her father to cooperate with any plan to get him to safety until he knows that she’s out of danger. So just pick her up discreetly. Tell her mother that they’ve won a trip somewhere, or send Scotty in as some lonely distant relative who wants to get to know his family better, anything that will minimize suspicions. I’ll give you guys 24 hours to get it done, and then I’ll find a way to smuggle him out.”

“You intend to try to extract the civilian by yourself?” Spock asked, frowning slightly. “Jim, the focus of your mission is Nero. Compromising it for the safety of a single civilian-”

“I know what the mission is,” Jim snapped. Spock’s eyebrow went up again, and he sighed. “Look, I need you to do this for me, Spock. I know it’s not ideal, but trust me when I say that it’s the best I can do.”

Spock didn’t look entirely convinced, but he nodded. He and Jim could never have stayed partners for this long had they not forged an implicit trust between them.

“Very well,” he said. “What is the doctor’s name?”

“Leonard Horatio McCoy. He worked at Massachusetts General, in the neurology…” Jim trailed off as he watched Spock’s expression change. A heavy silence descended over the table and he grimaced, fingers clenching around his coffee mug. It fell to him to point out the suddenly obvious. “You’ve read my file.”

Without a word, Spock reached up to his ear, switching off the mic that was hidden there.

“Jim.” But he didn’t seem to know what else to say.

“I’ve got to get him out of there, Spock.” Jim held his partner’s gaze, let some of the desperation he’d been feeling lately show. “I’m this close to fucking everything up, and if something happens to him, to his _daughter_ , I-”

He shook his head, looking down. He could feel Spock’s gaze on him as silence stretched between them again, but he couldn’t meet it.

“Jim…” Spock’s voice was gentler than usual, but it held a reluctant conviction. “You should no longer be on this mission. You are a danger to it and yourself.”

Jim tensed.

“What would you have me do, Spock?” he demanded, raising his head. “You’re right, okay, but what choice do I have? It took three decades for the CIA to get this close to Nero. If I’m pulled out, we may never get another shot at him. Besides-” He set his jaw. “I’m not abandoning Bones. Not again. No way in hell.”

The extent of his determination must have been evident on his face, because Spock didn’t bother trying to argue with him any further.

“Just be careful,” he said quietly. “It would be…inconvenient to have to train a new partner.”

Jim cracked a smile.

“Well, you know I hate to be an inconvenience,” he said.

The atmosphere thus lightened slightly, Spock switched his mic back on, reconnecting him to the rest of their team. Jim passed on a few more details about the McCoys, and received in return the promise that Sulu would see to Joanna’s safety.

After that came business as usual, such as it was for them. Spock asked for further details from Jim’s time at Narada, listening to the extensive report. He was particularly interested in hearing about the Botany Bay attack. Scotty had evidently received the data Jim had sent, but he hadn’t been able to pull any of the erased footage from the security cameras. They’d also been contacted by Pike, who had apparently received a pretty blistering phone call from the director of British intelligence about the whole incident with Captain Marcus.

“Hey, I got the job done,” Jim said in his defense. “It’s not my fault she tried to stop me.”

“According to her, the only reason that you ‘got the job done’ was that she saved your life.”

“Well, if you want to get technical about it…”

Jim had plenty to talk about, and even more _not_ to talk about, but eventually he finished his report and sat back a little in his seat to study his partner.

“So what’ve you guys been up to while I was gone?” he asked. “Sipping tea and eating bonbons?”

Spock tilted his head to the side, and his lips twitched slightly.

“Nyota just asked me to convey a message to you, but it is not suitable for the public.”

“That’s all right,” Jim said with a grin. “I think I can guess the gist of it. Plenty of colorful metaphors, right?”

“A veritable rainbow, Jim.”

Jim laughed.

“Have you been able to nail down an exact location for Narada yet?” he asked after a moment of comfortable silence.

“Unfortunately not. There appears to be some kind of shielding installed that makes it very difficult to detect electronically.”

“Well, hopefully that won’t matter too much. The way things are going, I’ll be trusted with the location soon.”

Spock gave him a few more updates and passed on some messages from the team clamoring in his ear. But eventually they ran out of things to say, and Jim knew he had no excuse to linger. Still, he found it hard to start to leave.

“Are you all right?” Spock asked him, expression softer than usual with concern. Jim could only imagine what his own face must have looked like.

“Today’s the day,” he said, trying for a smile and decidedly failing. “I’m finally gonna meet him. I’m gonna look my parents’ killer in the eyes.”

Spock’s eyes were dark and unreadable as he leaned across the table.

“Please, Jim. Do not let your emotions cloud your judgement. Not when we will not be close enough to assist you quickly.”

Touched by his friend’s earnest concern, Jim’s smile came a little more easily, although it remained a small, delicate thing.

“Easier said than done, Spock,” he told his partner. “But I’ll try.”

But it was still with great difficulty that Jim said goodbye to his friend and left the brief haven of the coffee shop. Being with Spock, discussing their team, their work, it had felt like a much-needed breath of normalcy. Jim knew what he was doing when he was with them, knew where he stood. He wasn’t at risk of hurting anyone just by being himself.

But where he was heading back to, he was a time bomb. He could only pray that the right people were in the blast radius for the inevitable explosion.

 *****

Ayel met Jim in the garage to take him to his meeting with Nero. And despite the nerves that had been steadily mounting since the day before, Jim found himself slipping into a state of surprising calm as he was led through the elegant halls of Narada.

He’d been thinking about this moment for eight years now, and it was finally here. Now there was nothing left to do but meet it head on.

They stopped in front of a dark oak door and Ayel knocked once.

“Come in.”

Jim took a breath, settled himself. Then he followed Ayel inside.

Nero stood waiting for them. The man was handsome, despite the grey that streaked his dark hair and the fine lines that radiated from the corners of his eyes. He wore his fifty-six years like someone who had conquered each and every one of them and was unafraid of those to come. His gaze was sharply intelligent and predatory as it swept over Jim.

“Mr. Finney,” he greeted eventually. His voice was accented, but in a way that hinted at so many different places; it was impossible to identify any one of them.

“Mr. Nero, I presume.”

Nero inclined his head slightly, his eyes still never wavering from Jim’s face. Jim’s scrutiny was just as intense, although he tried to hide his better.

So this was him. The man who had taken so much from Jim, who was responsible for so much pain and suffering the world over. He looked…benign, almost jarringly so, like a math professor or a concert cellist, someone who would apologize if he bumped into you on the street. But his eyes. There were horrors locked away in the depths of those eyes.

“I understand that I owe you some gratitude,” Nero said. “It sounds like you were primarily responsible for the success of your team’s efforts in India.”

“Just doing the job I was hired for, sir,” Jim replied, the last word bitter in his mouth. He felt almost numb.

“You’re too modest,” Nero said mildly. “The job you were hired for was behind a desk.”

Jim shrugged, unsure what to do with the compliment.

“I was happy to be of service,” he said.

“Were you.” Nero’s lips quirked slightly, but there was no levity in his eyes as he leaned toward Jim, palms flat on his desk. “Well, there’s a difference between will and ability. Tell me Mr. Finney, where did you learn to fight so well?”

Jim suppressed any outward signs of his growing unease. This didn’t feel like a meet and greet with the new boss. It felt like the beginning of an interrogation.

“My father was in the military,” he said, sticking to the cover story he’d already been relying on. “He taught me the basics. The rest I guess I just picked up out of necessity.”

Nero’s eyes sparked slightly, but his expression didn’t change.

“Your father did you a great service then,” he said. He straightened. “And you have done me a great service. Many of them, in fact, if my technical supervisor is to be believed. I think you’ll find that Narada can be a very… _rewarding_ place for a man with your skill and potential.”

Jim thought about the implications of that, and he didn’t have to force his smile.

“I think you’re right, sir,” he said.

“Hm.” Nero studied Jim for one more long moment, before a faint smile of his own appeared. “I usually am. Regardless, I simply wanted you to know that you have not gone unnoticed. I look forward to speaking with you again, Mr. Finney.”

Jim recognized the dismissal. It had been a short meeting, perhaps, but hopefully a productive one. He nodded respectfully and turned to leave.

He was almost at the door when pain erupted in his skull and whited out his vision in a blinding flash.

 *****

Consciousness filtered back in slowly, and then all in a dizzying rush. Jim gasped as the burning pain in his shoulders hit him, followed by the sharp numbness of his hands. His eyes snapped open, but he didn’t have to look to know that he was hanging by his wrists from the ceiling. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a first for him.

He tried to get his feet under him, but his bare toes only just scraped the floor. He gave up and looked around, adrenaline sharpening his focus.

He was suspended by a set of sturdy chains in a room that had a drain in the floor. That was never a good sign. Neither was the cart with a tray of instruments that did unpleasant things with Jim’s imagination. There was a mirror set in the wall facing him, and he knew from his investigations of Narada that it was a two-way. Designed so that someone could observe what he could only assume was going to be an interrogation.

Jim looked grimly at his reflection. There was a nasty bruise blooming on his temple and his hands were slightly purple from lack of blood flow, but otherwise he looked just fine. But he knew that was going to change, and he didn’t relish the prospect of watching it along with feeling it.

He tensed as the door beside the mirror opened. Nero walked through it, followed by his lieutenant. Ayel’s expression was stormy, but Nero appeared relaxed and casual as he looked Jim up and down.

“Welcome back to the land of the conscious, Agent Kirk,” he said.

Jim froze. He’d known he’d been made, but he hadn’t realized just how bad it was. Even if they’d guessed he was with the CIA, they shouldn’t have been able to determine his real name. Not unless…not unless someone told them.

But Jim dismissed that thought as soon as it occurred. Bones would never betray him like that, not even pissed and hurting.

Shit, _Bones_. If they knew that Jim was a traitor, what did that mean for Bones? Most records of Jim’s existence had been wiped, but if Nero knew his name, there was no telling how much he knew about his background. And Bones was a very significant part of his background.

 _No no no no no._ This was everything he’d been afraid of.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he forced out. “What the hell is this about? I thought you were happy with my work.”

Nero shook his head and stepped closer to Jim.

“I will admit, it was a surprise to see you in my office,” he said, tilting his head as he studied his captive. “So much so that I had Olsen run a check for me, to make sure I was correct. I was, of course.”

Nero shook his head again, and raised a hand to Jim’s cheek. Jim had to fight not to flinch away.

“You look a great deal like your father,” Nero remarked. He smiled at whatever had managed to bleed into Jim’s expression. “Oh, yes. I’m a smart man, Agent Kirk; I don’t make the mistake of underestimating my enemies. And I don’t forget about them once I’ve put them in the ground. It has been my experience that their children often grow into enemies themselves.”

Jim gritted his teeth. There it was; the admission he’d been waiting eight years to hear. It stoked at the bitter fury that had been simmering deep inside him for so long.

“Then why didn’t you just have me murdered the same way you did them?” he asked. “Have a sniper plug me on my way to class; I’m sure that wouldn’t have bothered you too much?”

“You think me quite despicable, don’t you?” Nero asked, still calm. Jim said nothing, and he shrugged. “Yes, the thought did cross my mind. But when you and your mother survived the car crash that killed your father, I didn’t see the point of finishing the job. There is little satisfaction to be found in the murder of grieving widows and squalling infants, and my real enemy was already beyond suffering. And by the time I was forced to kill your mother, I respected her too much to kill her sons without due cause.”

“Well, that was big of you,” Jim spat, a stab of fear joining his rage at the tacit threat to his brother, who Nero clearly knew about.

A flash of emotion finally cracked through Nero’s calm mask, and he clenched his fists, leaning into Jim’s space.

“Do not lay your disdain at my feet, James Kirk,” he hissed. “Reserve some of it for your father.”

Jim snarled and kicked out, landing a foot on Nero’s knee and sending him reeling backwards. It was stupid, he knew - he had no tactical advantage so long as he remained outnumbered and chained to the ceiling. But his blood was boiling now, a rage building in him like none he’d ever quite known before. He barely even felt the two furious punches that Ayel delivered to his ribs in retaliation for the strike.

“You don’t get to say a _word_ about my father!” he shouted at Nero.

“And you don’t get to continue thinking of him as a hero!” Nero cried back, clutching at his knee, composure deteriorating. “He was no less a monster than I!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jim demanded. “Because he stopped you from hurting people? Is that why you hated him?”

Nero stared at him in silence for a moment. And then he began to laugh.

“Is that what you think?” he asked while Jim stared. “That your father died trying to rid the world of a terrorist?” He didn’t give Jim the chance to answer. “Your father _created_ me, Agent Kirk. Him and your precious CIA.”

Jim said nothing. Nero took that as an invitation to continue.

“You think I was born like this? All I wanted was a simple life. A family.”

“So what happened then? No woman would have you?”

Fury twisted Nero’s expression, and he slammed a fist into Jim’s jaw, snapping his head to the side.

“I had a _wife_ ,” he growled. “A beautiful, brilliant wife, and she was about to give me a _son_. And your government, your _father_ , took them from me!”

A sick feeling started to churn in Jim’s gut.

“We were out in the market, buying the day’s groceries. Mandana went across the square to a vendor of rare books. Searching for a birthday gift for me. She had an eighteenth century copy of _The Aeneid_ in her hand when she was hit by a Jeep, flung almost fifteen feet before she hit the ground again. I wish I could say she was killed instantly, but it took _three minutes_ for her to die, crying in my arms.”

Jim flinched, but Nero didn’t seem to notice. His expression was twisted, frightening.

“The Jeep that killed her was being chased by an American on a motorcycle. One of your fellow agents.”

Jim had been over all of his father’s old case files. He knew the one Nero was referring to. Agent Richard Robau, George Kirk’s partner, had been on the motorcycle, and he’d been killed by the same crash that stopped the Jeep.

“That car was full of members of a terrorist cell,” Jim said. “My father was trying to _stop_ them. His partner _died_ trying-”

“THEY SHOULD HAVE TRIED HARDER!” Nero thundered, eyes wild. “They should have never let those men run. They botched their mission, and it cost me _everything_!”

Jim stared at Nero in the sudden ringing silence. His heart was leaden in his chest.

There was no arguing with grief. Not like this. Not when it had been festering for so long, twisted and misguided and toxic.

“So where does that leave us?” he asked quietly.

Nero took a breath, visibly pulling himself together. But Jim could still see the quiet fury simmering in his eyes.

“I granted you mercy twice,” he said. “But you’ve chosen to use that gift to follow in your father’s footsteps. That makes you equally guilty.”

Jim didn’t think he liked how this math was working out.

“So you’re going to kill me,” he said, unsurprised.

“Of course I’m going to kill you. But this is bigger than you. It wasn’t just your father and his partner that were responsible for what happened to my family; it was the agency that sent them in the first place, and the government that created created its own enemies. I’ve made it my life’s work to aid the people who despise your government as much as I do, but I can see now that it hasn’t been enough. Your CIA doesn’t learn from its mistakes, but I learn from mine. I’m finished with mercy.”

“I’m sorry, you were being merciful? I must’ve missed it.”

Nero snarled and grabbed Jim by the throat, squeezing with deceptive strength.

“I will bring your agency to its knees,” he hissed. It was an ironclad promise.

The storm passed again, and he relinquished his grip. Jim sucked in air while trying not to show how desperate for it he’d been. Nero began to back away from him, tugging his cool, unruffled demeanor back into place.

“You’ll talk.” He shrugged. “Or you won’t. Either way, I’ll get what I want, and you won’t be there to see it. You should be grateful. You’ll finally get to meet your father.”

He left without another word. Ayel stepped up in his place, wheeling the instrument cart with him.

“I’ll give you one last chance to do this the easy way,” he offered with a deadly smile, eyes hard. “Tell me about your mission. Who else is working with you?”

Jim took a breath, centered himself. This was it, he knew. He didn’t believe in no-win scenarios, but victory in this case meant dying unbroken by the agony that lay in his future, taking all of the dangerous secrets he carried out of the world with him.

Jim closed his eyes. He wasn’t ready yet, wasn’t _finished_. He’d failed; failed his parents, failed his team, failed Bones. And now he would never get the chance to make any of that right. But he took some comfort in knowing that he’d gotten the word out to his team. Whatever happened to Jim, they’d do their best to take care of the McCoys, and they’d never stop hunting Nero. It would have to be enough.

He lifted his head and offered Ayel a patented Kirk grin.

“Ask any of my teachers,” he replied. “I was never a fan of the easy way.”

Ayel shrugged.

“Suit yourself.”

He mulled over his tray of instruments. He looked like a man who knew how to use them.

“Which would you like to taste first, my two-faced friend?” he asked. “Your balls or your small intestine?”

Jim suppressed a shudder, but there was nothing he could do about the cold sweat breaking out over his skin. Ayel selected a scalpel and approached him.

“I suppose I should thank you,” he said. “I so rarely get the opportunity to do this.”

He bent forward, but before he could touch Jim, the door banged open. They both looked up to see Bones standing in the doorway, wielding a syringe. Jim’s stomach plummeted, fear hitting him like a punch to the chest. Bones’ face was pale and set, his eyes blazing with grim determination.

“McCoy, what the hell-”

“Bones, whatever you think you’re doing, _please_ -”

But Bones ignored them both, striding past a stunned Ayel to jab the syringe into Jim’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” he said, dropping the empty syringe and taking Jim’s face in his hands. “I love you.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d said the words to Jim, but it was the first time they’d sounded like a goodbye.

“Bones, no-”

But then Ayel was yanking Bones back, throwing him into the arms of the guards that had just sprinted into the room.

“Don’t touch him!” Jim shouted, yanking desperately against his chains.

Ayel ignored him, slamming a fist into Bones’ stomach as he furiously demanded to know what he’d given Jim. Bones didn’t answer, didn’t even look at him, just raised his head to look at Jim with unbearably tender eyes, drinking in the sight of him as if afraid he would never get the chance again.

Jim’s body was growing cold and heavy, but he fought the looming darkness, throwing himself against his bonds until his wrists bled, continuing to scream at Ayel and his goons as they struck Bones again and again. Tears began to blur his vision as he realized what Bones had done. He’d saved Jim from Ayel with the mercy of a quick, painless death. But in doing so, he’d brought all of that wrath upon himself.

“No,” Jim whimpered as his body finally began to quit. He’d made his peace with dying, but not like this. Not at this cost.

He gave one last feeble tug at the restraints he could barely even feel anymore, but it was useless. All he could do was watch through drooping eyes as Bones flinched away from blows that just kept coming. And though Jim railed against the darkness that came for him, it claimed him with dreadful finality.


	11. Chapter 11

Jim’s body realized that it was awake before his brain caught up. He jerked wildly, his arms flailing, lungs spasming to suck in air like a drowning man.

“Hey, easy, Kirk,” said a familiar voice. Warm hands gripped his wrists, preventing him from hitting anything. “It’s okay, you’re safe. You’re safe.”

Jim forced his heavy eyelids open, his body still wracked with tremors. His thoughts were muddled, chaotic yet sluggish, but he focused on the woman leaning over him, and something inside him relaxed automatically. He stared at Uhura, grounding himself in the familiarity of her concerned features as he tried to make sense of…

“I’m not dead.”

He couldn’t remember at first why that was so surprising.

“Could’ve fooled us, for a minute there,” Uhura told him, releasing his arms at last and leaning back. “You were doing a pretty good impression of a corpse when we found you. We couldn’t even find a heartbeat. You scared the living hell out of Spock, but good luck getting him to admit it. Turns out someone gave you a crazy high dose of ronoxilone, which is a neuro-paralyzer that can mimic death in high enough concentrations.”

And that was when Jim remembered why his stomach was a knot of dread and his heart full of ice shards.

He sat bolt upright, swinging his legs over the side of the narrow cot he’d been lying on and struggling to his feet. His aching muscles trembled beneath his weight and his head spun sickeningly, but he staggered forward anyway. He recognized the room they were in as the small infirmary in the base his team had set up in Rome, and he headed for the door that he knew would take him into the ops center.

“Hey!” Uhura protested, trying to stop him and push him back down. “We almost pronounced you dead yesterday, give yourself some time-”

“Yesterday?” Jim gasped, lurching to a halt. He rounded on Uhura and grabbed her by the arms. “How long have I been out?”

She glanced at the clock over Jim’s head.

“We found you in a motel bed about fourteen hours ago. How long you’d been down before then is anyone’s guess though - we think something was blocking the signal from your emergency beacon.”

His emergency beacon? Jim hadn’t activated…

A raw, pained noise choked its way from his throat. Uhura stared at him in alarmed concern, but he ignored her, forcing his unsteady legs into motion again.

“Kirk, what happened?” Uhura asked, giving up on stopping him and tugging his arm over her shoulders so that she could support him instead. “We thought things were going well.”

“I’m an idiot, that’s what happened,” Jim spat. “I should’ve fucking _known-_ ”

He stopped, because they’d just emerged into the ops center. It was a cool name for what amounted to a small windowless room with long tables full of computer banks and other electronic equipment lining two of the walls, and another table scattered with papers and half-empty coffee mugs. Four other people were gathered there; the rest of Jim’s team, and the unexpected addition of Chris Pike.

Jim stared at his mentor, a complicated mix of emotions hitting him. Fear and horror were pounding through him, twisting his insides, but Pike had always been a steadying presence. Unflappable, unbreakable, he’d seen Jim through some of his darkest times, both on the job and off of it. Seeing him in the field usually meant things were as bad as they got, but he was the one who could make them better.

“Take a breath, son,” Pike said, and miraculously, Jim did. He let Uhura settle him into one of the chairs at the table, the eyes of the others fixing on him. “Tell us all what happened.”

Jim bowed his head for a moment. He pushed down his sickening panic, focused his thoughts, and looked up again.

“Nero made me the second I walked through the door,” he said, his throat burning. “He knew my face.”

Pike’s expression grew a touch more solemn. He too, obviously felt that this was something they should have foreseen. A flash of anger surged through Jim, but it subsided after just a second. This wasn’t Pike’s fault, it was his.

“Okay,” said Pike. “What happened after he made you?”

“The standard stringing up in the dungeon treatment. He was kind enough to explain exactly why he was doing all of this.” Jim met Pike’s eyes grimly. “Operation Romulus. Casualties two and three were his wife and unborn son.”

He could see that Pike understood instantly. He let out a heavy breath, looking suddenly ten years older.

“Okay,” he said again, his voice a quiet sigh. “And then?”

“He’s got a vendetta against the entire agency, but it started with Dad in particular and now I guess I inherited it. He told Ayel to interrogate me, but I don’t think he really cared that much about what information I could give him. He just wanted me to suffer. And then Bones-” Jim’s throat closed up.

He remembered the warm touch of Bones’ hands on his cheeks, the tender sadness in his murmured ‘I love you.’ He squeezed his eyes shut as they burned, but he forced himself to continue his report. Breaking down wouldn’t help Bones.

“And then Dr. McCoy came in. He had pretty free reign of the place, so he must’ve talked his way past the guards. He injected me with the ronoxilone before anyone realized what he was up to.” A fresh wave of horror slammed into Jim, and he shot to his feet. “His daughter! Did someone get-?”

“She’s fine, Kirk,” Sulu cut in, leaning across the table. “We sent a couple US Marshals to pick her up as soon as you told Spock about her, and they got to her and her mom within the hour. I spoke to Agent Mitchell two hours ago, and they were in a safehouse in Maine.”

Jim’s racing heart slowed slightly, and he collapsed back into his chair. He let out a breath.

“McCoy injected you with the ronoxilone…” Pike prompted when he didn’t say anything.

“Right.” There went Jim’s momentary relief. He swallowed. “He must’ve known they’d get rid of my body if they thought I was dead; he’s seen them do it before. That was probably when he activated my beacon and planted it on me, so that you’d…so that you’d find me.”

Him, and not Bones.

“You were not already in possession of your beacon?” The question came from Spock, who had been listening in silence up to that point.

Jim didn’t look at his partner. He’d avoided mentioning that little gem in their meeting, knowing it would earn him nothing but disapproval and recriminations. There hadn’t been time for Scotty to get him a new one before he went back to Narada anyway.

“He needed it more than me,” Jim said, still looking at Pike. “He still does, _damn_ it _-_ ”

He broke off again, bracing his elbows against the table and pressing his forehead against his closed fists as he struggled to regulate his breathing. Bones had given up his last shred of defense for him, had exposed himself to the brunt of Nero’s wrath utterly alone.

“We have to get to him,” he said, meeting Pike’s gaze again. “This mission is blown to hell anyway; we’re never gonna get that client list. It’s time to storm the castle, and be content with whatever information we can find.”

It happened to be a valid justification, but Jim suspected that everyone in the room knew it was just a convenient front. He didn’t care about information just then. But Pike didn’t argue.

“Sulu, scramble a SEAL team,” he ordered.

“We don’t have time to wait for a damn SEAL team!” Jim said heatedly, slamming a hand down on the table. “Nero is doing God knows what to Bones _right now_!”

There was a moment of utter silence in the room. Suddenly none of Jim’s team would look at him. Pike had no such inhibitions.

“First of all, there’s no ‘we’ about this, Kirk,” he said. “You’re hurt, and you’re compromised in just about every sense of the-”

“I am coming with you,” Jim interrupted in a tone he’d never taken with Pike before. “It might be a bad idea, but it’s what’s happening.” Seeing that he was about to be unequivocally shut down, he floundered for reason. “Spock told me you guys still hadn’t been able to locate Narada, and Uhura said that something was jamming my locator beacon until my body was dumped. That means you still don’t know where it is.”

The stiff silence told him that he was right.

“Well, I can find it. I’m the only one who can. I’ve been driven there twice now, and I memorized the route.”

“Great. Tell it to Sulu, and he’ll be happy to drive it.”

“No.” Jim set his jaw and stared at Pike.

Furious tension hummed in the air until they were all nearly drowning in it. Sulu was looking back and forth between Jim and Pike, Uhura and Spock were eyeing each other meaningfully, and Scotty was looking like he would rather be just about anywhere else.

Jim didn’t back down. He knew this kind of insubordination could cost him his career, his freedom even. But he didn’t care. There was no version of this that resulted in him not going after Bones.

“Fine,” Pike said finally. “But the SEAL team is nonnegotiable.” Seeing that Jim was about to protest, he held up a hand. “Kirk, Nero’s already had McCoy for at least sixteen hours. A few more won’t make that much difference for him, but they could mean everything for us. If the five of you go in there alone, someone’s going to end up getting killed, especially with you in this shape. From what I know about McCoy, that’s not something he’d want on his conscience. Am I wrong?”

He wasn’t, and he knew it. Jim glanced around at the rest of the team, and felt himself deflate a little. He couldn’t risk them unnecessarily for his mistakes.

“Settle in, Jim,” Pike said, more gently. “There’s still plenty to do while we wait.”

Jim knew he meant planning, but there was one more thing on his mind, one last fear from his conversation with Nero.

“He knows about Sam,” he told Pike. “And I pissed him off so bad…”

Pike’s expression became even more grim, and he pulled a phone from his belt and tossed it at Jim without waiting to hear more.

“We’ll get started without you,” he said.

Jim retreated to the infirmary, closing the door behind him and dropping onto the cot as he typed in the number he knew by heart but hadn’t used in far too long.

“Sam Kirk.”

A wave of emotion blindsided Jim, and he closed his eyes. He and Sam hadn’t always had the smoothest of relationships, but hearing his brother’s voice brought him instantly back to a simpler, safer time. His chest ached sharply, and he couldn’t find his own voice for a moment.

“Hello?” Sam said, a touch of impatience coloring his tone now.

“Sam, it’s me.”

“ _Jim_.” It had been two years since they’d spoken, but there was no uncertainty in the identification. “Where are you? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Jim lied. “Sam, listen to me-”

“Where have you _been_?” Sam interrupted. “I know you’re not the easiest person to get in touch with, but I’ve been trying for _weeks_.”

That didn’t bode well, but Jim didn’t have time to question him.

“I’m sorry about that, but we can’t do this now. I need you to listen to me.”

His tone was evidently enough to convey the seriousness of the situation.

“I’m listening,” Sam said quietly after a heavy pause.

“Do you remember that key I gave you six months after we lost Mom?” Jim asked.

He didn’t bother waiting for a response. He knew there was no chance of Sam forgetting the day Jim had ambushed him at work and hauled him on a four hour drive to the rural hills of Virginia to show him the small cabin that sat isolated and untouched in the woods. It was the safehouse that George and Winona had set up when they first got married, one that they’d never had occasion to use and that Jim had hoped would continue to stay empty. But Jim had lost too damned many family members to Nero already to risk the rest of them now.

“It’s time to use it. Get Aurelan, pack up the boys, and go. Leave your phones and computers behind, don’t stop for anything or anyone, and _do not leave_ once you get there. Do you understand?”

“Of course I don’t understand,” Sam said, but his tone was more concerned than frustrated. “Jim, what’s happening?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Jim said, his throat tight. “And I’m probably overreacting, but I don’t want to take any chances. Not with you. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to go home again.”

He hesitated, realizing that might not be a promise he could follow through on. He cleared his throat.

“Or Chris Pike will.” Sam didn’t know Pike as anyone besides an old friend of their mother’s, but that would be enough. “Be careful, Sam.”

He went to hang up, but his brother’s voice stopped him.

“Jim, wait!”

“Look, I need you to trust me,” Jim said, bringing the phone back to his ear. “I know it’s asking a lot, especially since I’ve never been able to tell you as much as I’d like, but I’m begging you here. If not for my sake, then for Rory and the boys.”

“Of course I trust you, Jim,” said Sam. “I might not be the smartest in the family, but I’m not an idiot. I know Mom wasn’t just an international business consultant, and I know you got sucked into her old world too. And I know that whatever’s happening, you’re doing what you have to. I just wanted to say - you be careful too, all right? Come home safe.”

Jim had to blink several times and clear his throat again.

“I’ll try,” he whispered, and hung up. He stared at the phone for just a moment, before getting up and going to rejoin his team.

*****

They spent the next two hours planning their attack. Jim described Narada and its defensive capabilities in painstaking detail, and they did their best to go over every possible contingency. It helped that Nero thought Jim was dead. He’d be on guard, but he wouldn’t expect such swift and targeted action, thinking himself still safely hidden. The advantage of surprise would only last so long though, so the action had to be over quickly and decisively.

Team Enterprise had worked together for so long that they only had to voice half a sentence of an idea before the others caught on. They knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and how to best play off of one another. For the most part, Pike sat back and let them plan, only offering the occasional suggestion. He’d been retired from real field work since sustaining some nerve damage on a mission, so he’d be remaining behind, their eyes in the sky and voice in the ear.

The possibility that they were planning a recovery mission rather than a rescue was brought up exactly once. No one could look at Jim for almost ten minutes after he'd stopped yelling. He couldn’t look at any of them either.

He wasn’t naive enough to think it wasn’t possible, or even likely, that Bones was already dead. He just knew that if he let himself even consider the idea, he would be worse than useless. So until he was confronted with incontrovertible proof that they were too late, he was only going to plan for the scenarios that he could live with.

So they kept planning until there was nothing left to say, and then they began arming themselves. The familiar ritual of strapping on his gear helped to settle Jim. It made him feel a little less useless and a little more in control. It helped that the last of the ronoxilone was finally working its way out of his system, allowing some of his strength to return. He might not be at his peak, but at least he’d be less of a liability on this mission.

As he was tightening the straps on Scotty’s tactical vest, a new thought occurred to him.

“Listen,” he called out to the others. They all paused what they were doing and looked at him. “I told you all about my roommate, Chekov. Russian, skinny, dirty blond hair, blue eyes, about five-ten. Defend yourselves if he fires on you, but please do whatever you can to take him alive.”

Chekov wasn’t like the rest of them, those mercenaries and murderers, and Jim didn’t like the thought of him being hurt. He was almost certain that there was more going on with the kid than he understood, and he wanted the chance to find out what it was.

His team nodded their understanding and went back to work.

*****

Twenty minutes later, the SEAL team’s helicopter was in range, and Team Enterprise was loaded into a tactical van, with Jim in the front seat and Sulu at the wheel. They started at the butcher shop where Jim had debuted as Ben Finney. It felt frustrating and a little ridiculous to backtrack like this, but it was the only way that Jim could be sure where he was going. He closed his eyes and shut himself down, finally detaching himself from the fear and guilt and adrenaline and slipping into the zone of calm that he needed in order to do this right. He’d always done his best like this, when he could take action instead of sitting around wringing his hands.

There was complete silence in the van except for the noise of the engine. He took a breath, and then another.

“Drive south on this street and take a left after forty seconds,” he told Sulu.

And then they were off.

Jim navigated them successfully out of the busy city, only once losing his bearings for two heart-stopping minutes before the cry of a fruit salesman reoriented him. Then they were on smoother, emptier roads, and the stretches between new instructions grew longer. They left Jim with far too much time to think.

He opened his eyes on a thirty-minute stretch, needing some kind of visual distraction. He wrapped his arms around his middle, hunching in on himself. He knew it wasn’t carsickness that was making him nauseous.

Even staring out the side window, he could sense the glances that Sulu kept shooting at him. Finally, he shot one back. Sulu looked as collected as he always did, cool and confident. His hands were completely steady on the steering wheel, and Jim found his gaze drawn to the gold band gleaming on his finger.

“How do you do it?” He wasn’t sure if he’d meant for the question to come out, but he found that he desperately wanted the answer.

“Do what?”

“Stand having a family when you know about all of the terrible things out there. How are you not terrified every second of your work following you home?”

“Who says I’m not?” Sulu met Jim’s surprised glance with a small smile. “The scariest moment of my life was holding my daughter in my arms for the first time. But it was also the best moment. Sometimes you can’t have one without the other, but that doesn’t mean you should give up both.”

He shot another quick glance at Jim.

“We’re as careful as we can be, Kirk,” he said. “This team is the best of the best, and we make damn certain to do everything we can to keep our work out here and not at home. And yeah, there’s still always risk, and believe me, I hate that. I think about it every time I kiss my husband goodbye or Skype Demora from the other side of an ocean.”

He sighed, his gaze growing distant for a moment.

“But at the end of the day, we need to be doing this _for_ someone. You were doing it for your parents. I do it for Demora and Ben. I’ve dedicated my life to making the world a safer place for my daughter to grow up in.”

He glanced away from the road again. His eyes were warm, understanding.

“It’s not a weakness when your _raison d'être_ is someone you can still lose, Kirk. It’s a strength.”

Jim swallowed. He stared out the windshield, eyes straining for a glimpse of the building he knew he couldn’t see yet.

“It doesn’t feel like one.”

“Hey.” Sulu punched Jim on the arm. “Have a little faith in your team. We’ll get him.”

*****

They drove for almost another hour. Finally, Jim felt Sulu step hard on the brakes. His eyes flew open and he followed his friend’s gaze to the growing dot on the horizon. His breath chest tightened.

“That’s it,” he said grimly, staring at the distant profile of Narada, framed against the shining backdrop of the sea.

They all piled out of the van and waited as the helicopter that had been following them came in to land. They fought their way through the wash of its rotors and climbed aboard, settling amongst the heavily armed SEALs already in the cabin. The Navy team had already been fully briefed, so all that was left was to wait while the helicopter flew them steadily closer to the compound, and eventually over its high walls.

_“Be advised; I’ve lost your GPS signals,”_ said Pike’s voice over their comms. _“You’re going to have to keep an eye on each other in there.”_

They all acknowledged that, but there wasn’t much time for anything else before they were descending. There were cracks and sparks as bullets pinged off the metal body of their ride, and they all ducked for cover. They raised their weapons and poured out of the helicopter the moment it hit the ground, firing back at the half dozen guards shooting at them. Jim recognized them all, but he didn’t feel so much as a twinge of regret as they fell one by one under the hail of bullets.

The CIA and SEAL teams stormed the complex, fanning out into the branching halls. Uhura and Sulu split off first, their goal to find and subdue Nero. As attractive a goal as that was, Jim headed straight for the basement instead, followed by Scotty and three of the SEALs. They were met with the expected resistance, but they pushed through it without much difficulty. They’d had hours of preparation time, while Narada had had minutes.

Jim had only been gone for a day, but already the halls that he’d spent the past months walking looked foreign to him. He’d well and truly shed the persona of Ben Finney, and Jim Kirk was on the most important mission of his life. He led the charge toward the interrogation room that he’d nearly died in, the most likely place to find Bones.

_“Nero’s office and personal suite are clear,”_ Uhura said over the comms. _“We’re moving to the second floor.”_

Scotty acknowledged the message, but Jim was only distantly aware of it, his focus concentrated on the door that had just come into view. There was a guard posted beside it, which Jim decided to take as a promising sign. It turned out to be Thompson. He blanched when he saw the oncoming fighters, but he plastered on a brave sneer, raising his gun. Jim met his gaze.

_You’re welcome to take a few swings at him_.

He put a bullet between Thompson’s eyes.

He was running forward before the body even hit the ground, pushing past the fallen man and through the door to the interrogation room. And then a truck hit him in the chest.

That was what it felt like, anyway. The breath exploded from his lungs in a painful whoosh and his ribs caught fire. He dropped, stunned, head bouncing off the concrete as more shots rang out. The muscles in his chest were straining, but he wasn’t pulling in any new air.

“Jim? Jim!”

He blinked until Scotty’s concerned face came into focus. Other voices were calling in his ear.

_“Was Kirk hit?”_

_“Do we have an agent down?”_

_“Scott, report!”_

“I’m fine,” Jim wheezed to all of them, lungs finally getting back into gear even as spots swarmed across his vision. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t have to look at the hole in his shirt to know he’d been shot, but his bulletproof vest had taken the worst of the impact. He sat up with Scotty’s help and a grunt of pain, looking with renewed urgency around the small room. It was empty, except for the one man lying a few feet away, his blood meandering slowly toward the drain in the floor.

Jim was at Ayel’s side in an instant, kneeling over his shuddering body.

“Hey!” he snapped, slapping at Ayel’s cheeks. “Where is he?”

Ayel’s drooping eyes opened to focus on him, and he grinned, his teeth coated in red. It was a killer’s smile, the final fuck-you of a man who knew he was dead.

“Nero said…” Ayel coughed, and there was even more red in his smile now. “To tell you…this is how it feels.”

No. _No._

Jim had always been as opposed to torture as one could be while working for the CIA, but he found the bullet hole in Ayel’s chest and drove his thumb into it without hesitation.

“Where is he?” he demanded again, and he was screaming now, his eyes blurring, but he didn’t let up. _Too late_ , a part of his mind whispered. _Too late too late too late_. “Is he alive? _Is he alive_ , Ayel?”

But the man just let out one last rattling gasp of breath and went still, his eyes glazing. Jim reeled back from the body, staggering to his feet.

“The basement’s clear, Jim,” Scotty said, and his tone conveyed what he thought the implications of that were.

Jim barely heard him before he was turning and running back the way they’d come, out of the basement and up the stairs. The once-elegant halls were stained with blood now, bodies lying where they'd fallen. Jim ignored them all. It was clear to him now, that Nero had seen them coming in time to prepare a getaway. And they already had all of the ground exits covered.

He was panting, his ribs screaming, when he finally burst out onto the roof. Dust and debris stung his eyes, flung at him by the wash of air from the rotors of the sleek black helicopter idling twenty yards away, but he still caught the flash of movement. He reacted instinctively, firing his gun four times in rapid succession and taking out the two bodyguards that had been escorting Nero to the helicopter. Jim would have fired at Nero as well, but he stopped cold. Because Nero had Bones clutched to his chest, the most effective human shield he could have hoped for.

Despite the overall shittiness of the situation, Jim felt like crying with relief. Bones was still alive. He had a split lip and a gash on his temple and an angry purple bruise across half his face, but he was _alive_.

“Let him go, Nero!” Jim shouted over the roar of the wind, gun still raised even though his finger had twitched automatically off of the trigger.

“I thought you were supposed to be smart!” Nero yelled back. He had a gun pressed to the underside of Bones’ chin, and his eyes were wild. “You’re not the one giving orders here!”

“There’s no way this ends well for you!” Jim could feel Bones’ eyes on him but he couldn’t meet them. There was no room for anything but this now.

“But it could end worse for you!”

Jim felt like screaming in frustration as Nero backed toward the helicopter, dragging Bones with him. He followed them at a distance, gun still raised, but he and Nero both knew he wouldn’t fire.

“Just shoot him, Jim!”

The door to the roof banged open behind him and more of his allies poured onto the roof, but Jim didn’t turn to look. His gaze was finally fixed on Bones, who was scowling fiercely at him.

“Do it!” he shouted, and his beautiful voice was hoarse and the possible reasons for that made Jim want to throw up. Bones knew what he was asking, but there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in his eyes.

Jim wasn’t sure whether it was the artificial wind buffeting him or his own trembling hands, but his gun was wavering. Still looking at Bones, he loosened his grip on the gun, holding it out to his side. Bones’ expression twisted, and his eyes flickered to the people behind Jim.

“Any of you!” he shouted at them. “You know what he is, what he does! Just-”

He choked off as Nero jammed the gun harder under his jaw. Jim was already moving, putting himself between Bones and his allies.

“Hold your fire!” he cried. “I repeat, hold-!”

He heard the sound of a metal door sliding shut, and he whirled to see Bones’ face peering at him through the window for a split second before he was hauled back. And then the helicopter was taking off, and Jim was screaming at the men to hold their fire again, and his heart felt like it was being torn out of his chest, attached by an invisible tether to the man getting further away from him by the second.

“I want our helo in pursuit!” Jim shouted into his comm.

_“Kirk, we can’t; we’ve got wounded who need emergency evac.”_

The meaning of that took a moment to reach Jim through the haze of his desperation and fear. But then his heart dropped, and he looked around. Sulu was the only member of Team Enterprise up here with him; the rest were SEALs. He shot one last agonized glance at the rapidly-shrinking helicopter, and then hurried back into the building, down the stairs to the main floor.

“Who’s hurt?” he asked.

_“One of the SEALs has an arterial bleed and another’s got a nasty head wound. Scotty took one in the leg-”_

_“And I’m_ fine _! I told you to quit making a fuss-”_

_“So he’s going to the hospital as well,”_ Uhura continued firmly.

Jim had finally made his way out onto the lawn where the helicopter was waiting. He watched as the second wounded SEAL was loaded into it, and he knew they were making the right call. That didn’t make it any more bearable.

_“There has been an additional injury,”_ said Spock’s voice, and his breathing sounded labored.

Jim hadn’t thought it was possible for his stomach to plummet further, but it was just that kind of day. He turned back to the building, mentally bracing himself to run in and find his friend bleeding out on the floor. But before he could take more than two steps, Spock emerged, and he wasn’t the one bleeding. That honor belonged to the man he was carrying in his arms. The boy, really.

“Pavel!”

Jim ran to Spock’s side and stared down in dismay at Chekov’s chalky face. Blood was spreading across the front of his sunny yellow T-shirt, so much of it that it reflected the sunlight beating down on them.

“What happened to _taking him alive_?” Jim demanded, keeping pace with Spock as he carried his dreadful burden toward the helicopter.

“He attacked a man who was about to shoot me,” Spock said. “He was insufficiently prepared for such an engagement.”

The words were delivered calmly enough, but Spock’s expression was tight, and he was practically running by the time they got to the helicopter. Jim helped him hoist Chekov inside, even though the strain made his ribs flare with agony. He climbed inside after him to find that Scotty and Uhura were already on board, Scotty with his leg propped up on the seat beside him while Uhura wrapped a pressure bandage around his calf.

The SEAL team medic pressed a wad of gauze into Jim’s hand and instructed him to put pressure on Chekov’s wound. So he knelt beside his friend, fingers sliding in his blood as he searched for the actual bullet hole. He had to bite his lip hard when Chekov flinched and cried out, but he kept the pressure steady. This kid was not dying today. There was no fucking way.

“It’s all right, Pavel!” he shouted over the noise of the rotors. The last of the SEALs climbed aboard, and then they were taking off. “It’s over!”

And for Pavel, maybe it was. But for Jim, the nightmare he was trapped in had no end in sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... ~~sorry~~.


	12. Chapter 12

The next several hours were a nightmarish whirlwind that Jim would only remember later in bits and snatches. One moment he was shouting for more gauze as his hands slipped and slid in the dark blood that just wouldn’t stop oozing from Chekov’s wound. The next someone was tugging the tactical vest from his body to check him for injuries of his own. Pike’s voice was in his ear, talking at him, but he wasn’t saying anything that Jim wanted to hear.

“You have access to the best spy technology in the world!” Jim shouted into his comms, not caring about the fact that it was his boss he was screaming at. “What the hell do you mean, you can’t track Nero’s helicopter?”

Pike said something about more cloaking software and running facial recognition instead, but Jim couldn’t pay attention. The memory of Bones’ face, of the gun pressed under his chin, tore at him. His head pounded and his stomach roiled, and he retched into the emesis bag that one of the SEALs held out to him.

Then one of the injured SEALs was crashing, and chaos descended. Then they were landing on a helicopter pad, the door sliding open to reveal a small swarm of doctors and nurses and ER techs rushing towards them. Then Jim was being held back as he tried to follow the stretcher that whisked Chekov away to emergency surgery.

Through it all was the thought of _Bones Bones Bones_.

Then Jim was being hauled forcibly toward the ER instead of the exit to the street.

“Let go of me!” he snapped at Uhura, the world swirling sickeningly around him as he tried to tug free of her iron grip. “I have to-”

“There’s nothing you can _do_ yet, Kirk!” she told him, not loosening her hold. “We have no idea where Nero and McCoy are, and you’ll be useless to McCoy when we do find him if a brain bleed turns you into a vegetable!”

She forced him down to the ER, where he was poked and prodded and scanned. Someone held out a pack of wipes to him, and he stared blankly at it until the tech sighed and began cleaning the tacky blood from his hands. His adrenaline finally began to fade, but his dread only worsened in its absence. The nurses and doctors kept asking him if he was in pain, but it wasn’t the effects of the bullet he’d taken that had his eyes watering and his throat burning.

 _“We’re looking for him, Jim,”_ Pike assured him over the comms. _“Spock and Sulu are going through everything Nero left behind; they’ll find some indication of where he might’ve gone to hide. And if they don’t, then I will. But in the meantime, you need to_ stand down _. I’ve authorized Uhura to sedate you if need be.”_

Easier said than done. Jim knew objectively that there was little or nothing he could do without more information, but that didn’t make it any easier to sit around being fussed over while Bones was alone in the hands of a terrorist with little left to lose and a lot of anger.

The hours ticked by in an agonizing haze of worry and frustration. Jim was finally declared to have three cracked ribs and a mild concussion, which wasn’t helped much by the residual effects of the ronoxilone. The doctor offered to let him stay in the ER for observation, but Jim knew from experience how bad the wait times could be at hospitals, and he didn’t want to take up a bed he didn’t need.

Eventually he found himself in one of the hospital’s waiting rooms. Finally satisfied that he wasn’t a flight risk, Uhura left him alone to track down some clean clothes for both of them. Jim was left staring blankly at the floor between his shoes as he waited. Waited for news about Bones. Waited for news about Chekov. Waited for it to start feeling like he’d accomplished something.

A minute or an hour or a lifetime later, a small, warm hand landed on his shoulder. He didn’t have to look up to know who it belonged to.

“Has there been any news about your friend?” Uhura asked, her familiar voice a welcome balm just then. Since they were all still wearing their comms, she knew she didn’t need to ask, but she’d also been working with Jim long enough to know that he didn’t do well with silence in times like this.

“No,” Jim said, realizing as he did how long it had been since he’d spoken. His voice felt rough and raw. “But that’s-that’s good, right? I mean, they would’ve already told me if…”

Jim’s throat closed and he clenched his jaw, unwilling to even give voice to the possibility that Chekov hadn’t made it. But that didn’t stop him from considering it.

He dropped his aching head into his hands.

“I don’t…I don’t know what to do.”

Uhura’s hand moved from his shoulder to his back, rubbing in small, gentle circles. And Jim had kept it together through so damn much, but it was that gesture of kindness that finally undid him.

Uhura sat down in the chair beside his and wrapped her arms around him as he began to shake. He collapsed against her, tucking his face against her shoulder as the tears finally started to come, thick and fast and silent. It felt like defeat, like he was giving up, but he couldn’t hold it back anymore. Not when he couldn’t stop seeing that last flash of Bones’ face, the fear in his eyes as Nero yanked him back into the disappearing helicopter. Couldn’t stop seeing him pale and bruised, standing tall despite the gun to his head and ordering the good guys to sacrifice him so that no one else would get hurt.

Uhura didn’t say anything, just let him quietly fall apart until there was nothing left. And then he just breathed, timing each inhalation with hers.

“I didn’t say it back.” The words were razors in Jim’s mouth. “He told me he loved me, and I didn’t say it back.”

Uhura’s arms tightened around him. He wanted her to tell him he would get the chance to, but at the same time he didn’t, because if she made that promise, he wouldn’t be able to help hating her if it didn’t come true.

“Something tells me you didn’t have to,” she said softly.

Jim wished he could believe her.

“Mr. Ryan?”

At Uhura’s nudge, he remembered that they’d checked into the hospital under false identities. He stumbled to his feet, scrubbing a hand over his eyes.

“That’s me,” he said, looking up at the doctor who had spoken. “Are you my brother’s doctor?”

“I am,” she said in a richly accented voice. “Alexey made it through surgery. The bullet went through him without hitting his spine, and we were able to repair all of the damage to his internal organs. We expect a full recovery.”

Jim just stared for a moment. So many godawful things had happened to him in the last two days that he’d come to expect them. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with good news.

“He’s…going to be fine?” he asked. The doctor smiled.

“Well, he won’t be playing any sports for the next few weeks, but yes. He’s in recovery now. It may be some time before he wakes up, but you may see him now, if you like.”

“Uh, yeah.” Jim blinked and shook himself. “Yes.” He looked at Uhura, who smiled. “Definitely. Please.”

The two of them followed as the doctor led them into the recovery ward. Despite having been told that Chekov would be fine, it was still rough to see the normally effervescent kid lying pale and still in a hospital bed, attached to half a dozen different wires and tubes.

“He looks so young,” Uhura murmured as they stood in the doorway, peering in.

“He _is_ young,” Jim sighed. “Too young for all of this.”

“You weren’t much older when you first got involved.”

“Maybe I was too young for this too.”

Jim could feel Uhura’s assessing gaze on him, but he ignored it. He stepped into the room, pausing and looking back when he realized that his teammate hadn’t followed him.

“I’ll give you two some time,” she said. “I need to change my shirt anyway.”

Jim glanced down at the article in question and grimaced sheepishly at the mess he’d made of it.

“I’ll buy you a new one?” he offered.

She just rolled her eyes and waved him off, already on her way down the hall. Jim turned back to the hospital room. He approached the bed, staring down at his friend.

“Less than six months I’ve known you, and this is the second time I’m standing at your sickbed,” he said. “This is not the kind of trend I like to see, buddy. We’re gonna have to work on that.”

Chekov didn’t respond. His eyes were flickering back and forth beneath their lids. Jim wondered what he was dreaming about. Judging by the tiny frown on his lips and the wrinkle in his brow, nothing great. Jim sighed, settling a hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“It’s gonna be all right, Pavel,” he said softly. “Don’t ask me how, but it will.”

After a moment, Jim sighed again and sank into the hard plastic chair beside the bed. There was a much more comfortable-looking recliner in the corner, but he wasn’t ready to risk falling asleep.

He’d only been sitting in silence for a minute or two when the phone on the table next to the bed rang shrilly. He started and glanced at Chekov, but the kid didn’t so much as twitch. So he picked up the phone and waited.

“Jim?”

Jim lurched to his feet, knocking over his chair with a clatter.

“Bones?” he gasped, and there was no air in his lungs. “Bones, where are you? Are you all right?”

“Jim, whatever he asks you to do-” There was the unmistakeable thud of something hard hitting something soft, and a muffled cry of pain echoed through the line, twisting an icy dagger in Jim’s gut.

“Bones!”

Jim started for the door on instinct, but was quickly jerked to a halt by the phone cord.

“What an odd nickname.” The voice from the speaker belonged to Nero now. “Rather morbid, don’t you think? Especially when it has the potential to become so painfully…literal.”

Jim’s fingers tightened around the slick plastic of the phone, as if he could reach through it and strangle the man on the other end of the line.

“Nero, if you touch him again I swear to God-”

“You’ll do what? Devote your empty life to stopping me, just like your mother did? Let’s think about how well that worked out for her.”

Rage seethed through Jim, but the reminder of his mother, of what Nero was capable of, made him struggle for control. He couldn’t afford to be antagonizing.

“What exactly is it that you want?” he asked through gritted teeth. “You’ve already made your clean getaway, you don’t need a hostage anymore.”

“Oh, but he’s not just any hostage, is he? I looked into him, you see, after what he did for you. Turns out I just hadn’t gone deep enough when I checked him out the first time. Because your government may have given you a blank slate, but your fingerprints were still all over his.”

Jim sucked in a sharp breath, but Nero didn’t seem to notice.

“So here’s how this is going to work. You are going to do what I ask, or I am going to slit your lover’s gut and let him hold his entrails while he dies slowly.”

Nausea clawed at Jim’s throat, but he swallowed it down.

“I’ve already told you that my true enemy is your CIA,” Nero was saying. “And you are going to help me cripple them. It won’t even involve anything messy or violent on your part. You may not even have to leave that hospital.”

“What do you want?” Jim spat.

“The CIA keeps a list of all of its current undercover operatives. I want you to find it, and publish it.”

Jim’s knuckles were white on the phone now. Nero knew full well what publishing that list would do. Every single person on it would be dead within hours.

“What good would that do you?” he asked, and a little desperation had leaked into his tone. “I was the only operative in your operation, I swear-”

“Every single person on that list is what your father was!” Nero hissed. “And I won’t allow them to continue the work he did. So you have four hours. Don’t bother telling me that you can’t do it, because we both know that you can. I was going to have you do it anyway, before I realized what you were. That would have been poetic, would it not? You publishing the list with your name at the top of it.”

“I can’t just-”

“The choice is yours, Agent Kirk. But as you make it, know that if the list is not online four hours from now, the next call you receive from me will feature the dying screams of your precious _Bones_.”

Four hours. Nero knew that four hours wasn’t enough time to pull all of the agents from the field.

“Wait-” Jim pleaded, mouth dry.

But Nero had already hung up.

Jim had overturned his chair when he’d first answered the phone, so he dropped all the way to the floor as his legs folded under him. He pressed his forehead to the cool white linoleum, the smell of antiseptic filling his nose as he gasped for breath.

Nero was right. Jim could do the task he’d been set. He knew the CIA’s systems inside and out, and he could pull the list with relative ease.

And he knew what would happen if he did. Dozens of agents, some of them his friends, all of them heroes in their own right, murdered. Dozens of missions blown, critical missions with life-and-death ramifications. It was unthinkable.

But he was still thinking about it. He was thinking about Bones, about the look of fear that he hadn’t quite been able to hide as Nero was taking him away. He was thinking about that choked cry of pain on the other end of the phone. He was thinking about that resigned, farewell ‘I love you’. He was thinking about the little girl locked away in some safehouse, scared and confused, listening to her tiny heart with the stethoscope given to her by a father she might never see again.

But then he was thinking about what Bones would say to all of this, what he _had_ said. He was thinking about his friends, about Spock and Uhura and Scotty and Sulu, all of whom had been on one of those undercover lists more times than they could count. He was thinking about his parents, about everything they had lived and died for.

“Jim?”

He looked up to see Uhura striding towards him, her expression twisted in concern. He sat up, and allowed her to help him to his feet.

“I’m gonna go scrounge up a computer for Scotty,” he said, and his voice sounded foreign to him. “I need him to try like hell to trace a call.”

*****

An hour later, a bedridden and rather doped-up Scotty had given him a set of GPS coordinates. Jim sprinted from the hospital, Uhura right behind him, and they piled into the SUV that Uhura had collected from their base. It was just the two of them this time. Spock and Sulu were still at Narada, Scotty was hurt, and the SEALs had disbanded. Their helicopter would have been out of the question anyway. This had to be a covert operation, because if Nero saw them coming, Bones was dead.

But Jim still wished for wings as he white-knuckled his way through the infamous traffic of Rome. Uhura threatened twice to knock him out and take over the wheel if he didn’t stop twitching and yelling at other motorists. He ignored her both times. And when they finally made it out of the city, he floored the gas pedal. Uhura gritted her teeth and grabbed the door handles, but she didn’t say anything.

 _“All right, I’ve got a building to go with those coordinates,”_ Pike said over the comms. He was still at their base, and had begun searching for information as soon as Scotty had traced Nero’s call. _“It’s an old resort building, abandoned because the cliff it’s built on eroded and was declared in danger of falling into the ocean. It’s owned by a whole string of shell corporations that I’m sure will trace back to Nero. It was one of those remote getaway spots, so you shouldn’t have to worry about collateral.”_

It was a small mercy, but Jim would take it.

“What about other hostiles?” he asked. “Has Nero called in any reinforcements?”

_“I’m only picking up two heat signatures in the area, so not yet. But listen: satellite imagery suggests you’re not going to have much cover. He’ ll see you coming if you’re in that SUV. You’ll have to do about the last 200 yards on foot.”_

So at Pike’s signal, Jim brought the car to a skidding halt. He and Uhura clambered out of it and took off running, guns drawn and eyes scanning everywhere. The abandoned resort loomed closer, a short, dilapidated building that had probably once been grand and expensive. It was perched precariously on the edge of a rocky cliff, its far side hanging over the sparkling blue water below.

The two agents reached the front entrance without incident. There had obviously once been glass in the double doors that led into the lobby, but it was long gone. Jim and Uhura entered cautiously, raising their guns to cover each other. They quickly cleared the ground floor and found a stairwell that would grant them access to the other levels.

“Up or down?” Uhura asked softly.

Jim thought about Narada, and how the lower floor had been reserved for the ugly truth of the business, while Nero lived in opulence above.

“Up,” he said, certain. “Top floor.”

The resort was only three stories tall, so it didn’t take them long to run silently to the top of the stairs. Jim went first, Uhura covering his six. They emerged onto a carpeted hallway lined with doors. They started moving down it, footsteps quick and soundless.

And then Jim froze, his eyes fixed on the floor. A dark trail of what could only be blood was leading like a terrible promise from the door of another stairwell to one of the rooms. There was no trail leading out.

Uhura nudged her shoulder against his and he shuddered back into motion, his heart pounding in his throat.

The door was already cracked open when they reached it, and they both paused. Jim met Uhura’s eyes and they exchanged a silent countdown. Then they burst through the door together, shoulder to shoulder with their guns raised. Jim did an automatic scan of the room at eye level first, and felt an instant swoop of dread when he saw nothing but peeling walls, a broken mirror, and an armchair draped with a faded dust cover. Maybe they’d been too late again, and Bones and Nero were already gone.

But then his eyes dropped lower, and his heart stopped.

A familiar figure was crumpled facedown on the floor, horrifyingly motionless, more blood matting his hair and speckling the tan carpet around him.

“No.”

Jim sprinted across the room and crashed to his knees beside Bones’ body, gun dropping carelessly from his hand.

“Bones,” he choked, grabbing Bones by the shoulders and turning him over. His head lolled limply to the side, a strip of bloodstained duct tape over his mouth. His eyes were closed, his face ashen. “Don’t do this, Bones, don’t do this to me.”

Jim fumbled desperately for a pulse with one hand, ripping the duct tape away with the other.

Bones gasped, his eyes snapping open. Jim choked on a cry of relief.

“Jim?” Bones rasped, sounding dazed.

“I’m here,” Jim said at once, taking Bones’ face in his hands. His voice was thick. “I’m here, Bones; I’m not going anywhere. Just lie still, you might have a concussion.”

Bones blinked up at him, and then his eyes went wide. He struggled to sit up and then fell back with a gasp, another shade of color leeching from his already pale skin.

“Hey, easy,” Jim said, trying to hold him steady. “It’s all right, you’re safe now.”

“No, I’m not,” Bones panted, shaking him off and trying to sit up again. “Jim, none of us are. Nero knew you’d come here. He wanted you to.”

As he was speaking, Pike’s voice came urgently over the comms.

 _“Kirk, Uhura, I just picked up a long-range missile headed for you, no more than thirty seconds out. It’s too small for a really nasty payload, but it’ll still bring the building down so you need to get out of there_ now _.”_

Jim looked up at Uhura, and they exchanged a silent look of understanding. There was no way they’d be able to run from the building in time, especially not with Bones in his current condition. They both shrugged out of their heavy tactical vests, and Jim pulled a folded knife from his belt. He used it to slice through the tape binding Bones’ wrists behind him.

“Did you hear me, Jim?” Bones demanded, pushing himself up with a grunt of pain. “Nero’s got something planned-”

“I know,” Jim interrupted. “Put your arms around me.”

“What-?”

_“Fifteen seconds.”_

Bones jumped as two gunshots rang out and the glass in the doors to the balcony was shattered by Uhura’s bullets. He turned his head to look.

“Oh, hell no,” he said, understanding obviously dawning. “Don’t even think-”

But Jim was already scooping him up and sprinting across the room, through the ruined doors and out onto the balcony. His ribs were shouting at him in protest, as was Bones, but he ignored them, pushing one foot off of a deck chair and the next off of the balcony railing, propelling them over the edge. And then they were falling.

The cliff that the resort had been built on was a mercifully low one, but it was still a dauntingly long drop to the gleaming ocean below. Jim adjusted his grip on a still-yelling Bones, bracing himself and praying that they weren’t about to slam into a shallow bottom or treacherous rocks. A moment later, they hit the water with breathtaking force. Half the ocean shot up Jim’s nostrils, searing his nasal passages. He resisted the urge to start choking, instead tightening his arm around Bones and kicking through the water. He both felt and heard the powerful but muted _boom_ of the missile strike, and they broke the surface in time to see the resort collapsing in a cloud of dust.

Jim pulled a spluttering Bones away from the pieces of debris that were falling into the water, looking around as he did. He spotted Uhura stroking through the waves several yards away, and she waved at him to indicate she was fine. Thus reassured, Jim turned the entirety of his focus to the man in his arms.

Bones’ hair was plastered to his face, which was a green-tinged grey color. But the water had washed most of the blood from his skin, and his eyes were clear.

“Are you all right?” Jim asked him.

Bones looked between Jim and the destroyed building above them, his expression an uncomfortable-looking combination of overwhelmed and very, very done.

“If this is what the world of espionage is like, I want my money back for every James Bond movie I’ve ever seen.”

Jim’s laugh was fueled by sheer relief, and it was over quickly. He wanted to take Bones’ face in his hands, but he was still using both arms to keep them afloat. He settled for pressing their foreheads together.

“I love you too,” he said. “You hear me, Bones? I love you too.”

Bones blinked at him, his tired eyes going impossibly soft.

“Yeah, I knew, darlin’,” he said. “I _know_.”

Jim smiled at him, relieved and ten different kinds of overwhelmed, but they weren’t done yet. They were still bobbing in the ocean and Bones still had God only knew what kinds of injuries and Nero was still out there somewhere. But none of that seemed all that daunting at the moment, with Bones finally back in his arms.

“Well, that was refreshing,” Uhura said cheerfully, swimming up beside them. Bones leaned away from Jim to give her a skeptical look.

“ _Mint juleps_ are refreshing,” he said. “Honest politicians are refreshing. Jumping out of exploding buildings _and_ off of cliffs at the same time is not refreshing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter was so late. My mental health took a nosedive this semester, and it took my motivation to write with it. I'm finally starting to get back on an even keel though. And hey, no cliffhanger!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear what you think so far :)
> 
> If you're interested, a short prequel to this story can be found [here](http://drmcbones.tumblr.com/post/149612776745/brace-for-recoil-a-star-trek-cia-au-i-feel).
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://drmcbones.tumblr.com/), should you desire more Star Trek in your life.


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